Survival
by Unidentified Pineapples
Summary: Lenore is a survivor of Flight 815. Although the Island seems like a safe haven at first, she soons comes to relize just how mysterious it actually is. Polar bears, whispers only she can hear, and a discovery of ties to her upsetting past.
1. Where am I?

My eyes open only halfway before they slowly close again. I don't see much but it's enough to know that I'm no longer on the plane. Where am I? What happened? I don't remember much. I try to open my eyes again, but once more they close. Yet now I've see there's a man kneeling beside me. He's a big man, far from the average weight of a normal person, but who am I to judge on character especially at a time like this?

Once more I make the effort to open my eyes and finally, this time, they remain open. The man is still there, looking at me with shock. I mean to say something to him, but no words come out. What could I say anyway?

"Dude, your arm looks…bad."

What? What is he talking about? Why isn't my arm normal? Where am I?

It takes every last ounce of effort for me to glance over at my arm, to see what this man is talking about. Horror floods through me as I see my broken and mangled arm, twisted into an impossible position. It's almost inhuman the way it looks; yet I feel no pain. None at all. That's when it all comes back to me: the plane with it's violent turbulence, the screams of the passengers as they clung to one another in terror, the deafening sound of wind as the plane broke apart, a sense of fear, a sense of falling, then…nothing.

Emotions well up inside me like never before: terror of falling from the sky, shock at my mangled arm, confusion of the man who was still by my side, and thankfulness that I have survived.

"I'll go get…help."

He says this slowly, as though in fear of something. He drags he gaze away from my arm, turns around and runs to get help. I look back at my arm, and as the sand beneath it turns red, I realize why he had looked so scared.

I attempt to move my arm so I can find the source of the bleeding, but my injured arm won't move. I let out a moan in frustration. I will have to wait for help to come.

I let my head turn back to its natural position as I look up at the sky. I use my good arm to reach for my necklace, to have something comforting with me, but all I touch is skin. Where is it? I know I had it on when I got on the plane; I haven't taken it off in three years. It should be right here! Tears stream down my face as I think about my necklace. I need it back. I can't live without it. I promised him I'd give it back when I saw him again. I hate myself now.

Now I hear it: an explosion of sound that drowns out my thoughts. I hear screaming, lots of it. People are screaming and calling to each other over what sounds like the roar of an engine. It's loud and now I can feel the ground shaking in time with it. It's a wonder I was able to hear that man talk.

What's going on? Is it the plane? Are there really other survivors? Are they hurt too? This is all happening so fast. I can't concentrate! I close my eyes so I can focus on the situation, but the more I think about what's going on, the more this horrible situation becomes real to me.

Suddenly, amid all the chaos around me, the ground beneath me starts to thud as someone runs toward me. I open my eyes to see a man in a suit kneeling beside me. He looks directly into my eyes and asks, "Are you hurt?"

"My arm," is all I can manage to say as I glance over at the bleeding limb.

He gently picks up my arm out of the forming pool of blood that is now being absorbed into the sand. He quickly examines it, then pulls a small bottle of liquor out of his pocket. He opens the bottle and pours half of its contents onto my arm. He gently sets the bottle down so it doesn't spill and then again looks directly into my eyes.

"I'm going to need you to hold still for as long as possible…?"

"Lenny," I say in response to his look.

"Lenny. I'm Jack. Can you do that for me, Lenny?"

I nod my head yes and brace myself for whatever he's about to do. He lifts my arm higher and then I feel something being tugged from my arm. It hurts like hell and I gasp for breath trying to stop the pain. It's a sharp pain and it won't stop. I'm trying to hold still, but suddenly I can feel the effects of the crash. I'm sore all over my body, I think my leg is severely bruised and my arm still hurts.

I glance over to see what Jack is doing. He takes what appears to be part of an old tee shirt and begins to slowly wrap it around my arm. The pain is beginning to ebb away and somehow I manage to sit up. That' when I notice the broken shard of metal on the ground, and it's streaked with blood. My blood.

"Was that in my arm?" I ask, indicating the jagged piece of metal.

"It looks like part of the plane," he responds. I'll take that as a yes.

I look back at my arm to see that it's still mangled. I guess I won't be rock climbing anytime soon. Jack gets done wrapping my arm then looks back at me.

"I need to set the bones. Your arm is broken. Okay? You're gonna be fine." He grabs my hand and I brace myself again.

"Go," I say reluctantly. He pulls my arm hard and I can feel the bones move back into place. This too hurts like hell but about a million times worse. I scream in pain and squeeze my eyes shut. It hurts beyond anything I've ever felt before and I can hear the blood pounding in my ears.

The next thing I know, I'm being picked up by Jack and he starts running down the beach toward the sounds of the crash. I'm in too much pain to focus on anything right now. I open my eyes to see what's going on. Half the plane is sitting right on the beach, people everywhere are in panic. I pray that everyone will be okay and that we can all get out of this alive. I'm sure rescue is on it's way, so it's only a matter of time.

Jack runs over to the first person he sees, blonde guy around 40 years old. The guy is sitting on the wing of the plane that has broken off and is halfway buried in the sand. Jack gently sets me down on the wing and addresses the man, "Keep an eye on her, and don't let her move her arm. I'll be back soon."

He doesn't wait for a reply from the man, just runs off toward a guy giving CPR to an unconscious woman. The blonde guy looks down at me but doesn't say a word. He looks like he doesn't give a shit that our plane just fell from the sky. I don't make any effort to attempt to talk to him and nor does he.

I can feel the pain in my arm finally begin to ebb away. It's enough that I can breathe normally again and take time to really see what's going on around me. The first thing I see is a blonde girl, maybe 25 years old, in a miniskirt standing among the wreckage screaming. I look around to see what could be bothering her so much, but it just seems as though she's screaming just for the sake of screaming. I ignore her as I see the fat guy who was kneeling beside me before. He's with a blonde pregnant woman. I hope she's okay. She looks like she's having contractions.

That's when I hear the creak coming from the other wing of the plane. It's sticking up straight in the air but not for long. It's about to snap off and fall directly on the fat guy and the pregnant girl! I scream out to them to move but they're either too far away or the engine is too loud for them to hear me.

Thank God two seconds later I see Jack running toward them shouting for them to move. After what seems like a lifetime, Jack makes it over to them and helps the pregnant girl stand up. Him and the fat guy help her out of the way just as the wing falls in an explosion of wreckage and sand. The three of them all appear to be safe and I let out a sigh of relief.

I lay down on the wing of the plane and listen to all the noises around me, my heart beating rapidly. Hard to believe that just a few hours ago, I woke up in a cozy bed in Australia thinking about the next coming days when I would see _her_ again.

I wish I had my necklace back. Again, tears stream down my face as I touch the place where it should be. And that's when I come to the realization that I've lost everything in my life that I've ever cared about. All of it gone from the world. Even me. Almost poetic if you think about it.

I must've drifted off to sleep because I wake up to the sound of people whispering all around me. I open my eyes but there's no one there, save for the blonde man, yet the whispers continue. I try to distinguish what they say but they're too faint to make out. I turn to the blonde man and say, "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" he says in a Southern accent.

"The whispers," I almost shout. Why can't he hear them? I can't be the only one. I glance around at everyone resting and trying to comfort one another. They don't appear to hear them either. Then, just as quickly as they had come, they're gone.

What in the world was that? I swear it sounded like there were people around me whispering. No way I made that up. But then why was I the only one?

I push these thoughts out of my head as I see Jack walking over. It looks like he's holding what appear to be actual bandages rather than just an old tee shirt. For this, I am thankful.

He sits down beside me and once again looks me directly in the eye. It's almost as though he wants me to understand that everything will be okay.

"How's your arm?" he asks.

"Fine. The pain's gone now. Are you sure it's broken?"

"Well, it was pretty disconfigured. You should keep it still for a while. Give it a chance to heal."

"But it doesn't feel broken." I want him to understand this. I want to use my arm, not let it sit there uselessly.

"It's unlikely, but if it's not broken, you still need to let that cut heal." As he says this, he unrolls the bandage and inside is a small sewing kit, which he opens. "Ever gotten stitches before?" he asks as he pulls out the needle.

"Plenty of times," I respond. Rock-climbing will do that to you.

"Then this should be nothing new." He indicates for me to hold out my arm, and I do. He slowly unrolls the old tee shirt, which, by now, is stained with blood. The bleeding has stopped but the wound is still open and not too pleasant to look at. I'm thankful that he's going to seal it shut.

"Let me know if you want to me stop, okay?" He says this as he unravels a spool of thread and threads it through the needle.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine." I hate it when people think so little of me. I'm fully capable of doing anything an adult can do. I'm not a child; far from it.

It takes a few minutes, but finally, he does manage to sew it shut. He wraps my arm in the new bandage then stands up when he's done.

"I'll come by to check the bandage later. Let me know if it feels worse, and try not to move it." It feels fine to me, but whatever.

He looks at the blonde man and says, "How about you? Do you feel like anything--."

"Right as rain, Doc. Thanks." There's a note of sarcasm in the guys voice that could've been a result from the crash, but I don't think so.

"Right. Well, let me know if you need anything…?" He was looking for a name from the man, and, come to think of it, so was I. I've been next to this guy for a couple hours now and I don't even know his name.

"Sawyer." Short, sweet, to the point I guess.

"Sawyer, right," Jack says as he walks away.

I wait until Jack is out of eyesight before I decide to test my arm. I move it back and forth, up and down. It feels fine aside from the tightness in my skin from the stitches. I would take the bandage off, but I don't want the stitches to come loose. Plus, I don't think Jack would understand if I tell him my arm is usable.

The rest of the day passes by slowly. As it gets darker, I begin to see bonfires being started and people gather around them for warmth. I'm tired of sitting in awkward silence near Sawyer so I get up and join two people by their fire.

The heat from the fire feels good on this cold night. I think about getting up to find a blanket among the wreckage, but it's getting darker and harder to see every second. The fire will have to do for now.

I glance over at the guy sitting next to me, maybe 25 years old with blonde hair sticking out from under his hood. He has masking tape wrapped around his fingers and he's writing the word FATE on them. It seems like he's closed off from the world, like no one likes to be near him. Be that as it may, he kind of looks familiar to me.

I look back at the fire and become hypnotized by the flames, entranced by their beauty, and for a moment, I almost forget that I'm stranded on this island total strangers.

"You think they would've come by now." The voice of the guy sitting next to the blonde startles me back into reality. His voice is heavy with accent, and as I look over at him, I see that he is Arab. Maybe Iraqi.

"Who?" asks the blonde guy.

"Anyone," the Arab man responds. He falls silent after that and the blonde guy returns to writing on his fingers.

I take his words into consideration and after a few minutes of thinking about it, I come to the conclusion that he's right. We've been here for at least eight hours now. How long could it possibly take to find us? A few hours at most? That means someone should've been here by now.

I look up as I feel someone sit down beside me, and I see the fat guy who was next to me when I woke up. He hands me one of the in-flight meals they give you on the plane along with some plastic silverware. I gratefully take it and set it down on my lap.

"Thank you," I say.

"No problem. You're like one of the only kids here so, ya know, I figured you could use some food." Although I desperately want to say something, I calmly force the "kid" comment out of my head.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean for the food. I was talking about earlier, when you went and got help for me. It was lucky you were there. I don't think anyone would've seen me." This seemed to strike a chord in him for he seems distracted now.

"Yeah, probably not. You were pretty far out there." He says this with a slight chuckle that becomes contagious, and I start to laugh as well. Wow, the first time I've laughed since the crash. First time I've laughed in days actually. It feels good.

"I'm Lenny," I say. "Lenny Hume."

"Hurley Reyes," he says, still smiling.

I hold out my hand for him to shake, but instead he hugs me, the laughter emanating from his mouth again. He's happy to be alive, to have survived the crash. So am I. I hug him back, the smile growing on my face. I didn't think it was possible, but here on an island of all places, is where I'm the happiest I've been in years.

We release each other from the hug, and Hurley kindly excuses himself, saying that he wants to make sure the pregnant lady gets some food too.

I turn my attention toward the meal Hurley had brought me, and it's then I realize how hungry I really am. I can't remember the last time I've eaten. No, wait. Yes I do. It was this morning when I woke up. I'd had orange juice, Belgium waffles and bacon. God, was the really only this morning? It seems like years ago.

I undo the foil from the top of the container and underneath it I find some sort of chicken, a small salad, and what looks like a cube of pound cake. I don't really care what kind of food it is; I just know that I'm starving.

I hungrily dig into the chicken, and as it passes over my tongue, I consider it the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. It doesn't even cross my mind that the chicken is cold, or that the salad is wilting, or that the cake is probably deprived of moisture.

I think about saving some for later, incase rescue doesn't come for awhile, but then I look over at the blonde and the Arab man and realize that Hurley hadn't given then anything to eat. I turn to them and say, "You guys want some? Rescue might not be here for a while. You should eat something."

"That's kind of you to offer, Lenny," says the Arab man. He must've heard me talking to Hurley. "But I'm sure someone will be here soon." He sounds as though he's trying to reassure himself more than me.

"I'll have that cake looking thing if you don't want it," says the blonde.

"All yours," I say, handing him the cake.

"Thanks." He shoves half of it into his mouth, and then halfway between chewing and swallowing he says, "I'm Charlie, by the way."

He extends his hand for me to shake and that's when I notice the ring on his finger. The ring with the letters "DS" on it.

"Charlie?" I ask in disbelief. "Charlie Pace? From Driveshaft?"

"Oh, so you've heard of us?" he asks, a smile forming on his face.

"I have both of your albums. You guys are great." I can't believe this is Charlie Pace. Wow. There's a coincidence for you.

"Why thank you. You know, we're currently--."

Charlie gets cut off by the loudest, most bizarre noises I've ever heard: metal grinding together, large objects falling, and the dying call of a fog-horn in a subway tunnel. I know, however, that those things are not what are causing the noises. What _is_ causing the noises is knocking down some of the trees in the jungle.

We all stand up, all of the survivors, and crowd together in fear. What the hell is going on? What can rip down trees that fast? The noises continue, only louder now, and we all turn our heads as we see another tree get ripped from the ground just as the fog-horn/subway noise sounds again. This is too bizarre to actually be happening. Nothing is capable of this. Nothing.

After a few more seconds, the sounds die off and we're left with nothing to look at but the dark - and now dangerous- jungle.

"Terrific," I hear Charlie say sarcastically. At least I'm not the only one who realizes how screwed we are if help doesn't come soon. I don't know how long we'll be able to survive with that thing out there.

I feel someone beside me move, and I look up to see Sawyer making his way toward me.

"What the hell was that, Sassafras?" he asks as he reaches me.

"You think I know? I know just as much about this place as you do." Why does he think I have more information then he does?

"We'll, I figured-… what with your episode this afternoon… with 'the whispers' that you might know… a little more." He's struggling for words at this point and I know he's making it all up as he goes.

"What are you really doing here, Sawyer? Lord knows you didn't believe me about those whispers, and I don't see why you would've changed your mind in the last hour." I don't mean to have a tone with him but if he's going to say something, he needs to say it and not beat around the bush. My life doesn't need to be more complicated than it already is.

"Nothing. God, a guy can't be curious about what the hell is goin' on around here?" He's shaken by what just happened, but he's also hiding something else.

I put as much frustration into my voice as I can without overdoing it and say, "Fine, don't tell me."

I turn around and walk away from him, hoping I've gotten his attention enough to tell me. I go back over to the wing of the plane and sit down for a few minutes before Sawyer finally comes over and sits down next to me.

"You think you can con me?" he asks in his Southern accent. "I can tell the way you walked away and came right over here - where I've been hangin' out since the crash - that you're dyin' to know what I have to say. And let me tell you something, darling, you've got a thing or two to learn about conning." He has this smug smile on his face like he's looking down at a toddler who's trying to talk like an adult.

I let out a sigh and now actual frustration has crept into my voice. I try to suppress it as I say, "Sawyer, are you going to tell me why you walked over to me or not?"

He's being difficult on purpose and I don't want to deal with this right now. Sleep is beginning to come over me and I don't know how much longer I can stay awake.

He opens his mouth to say something then quickly closes it. I pretend like I don't notice.

A few more seconds pass before he finally says something. Something I don't expect. "I was making sure you were okay, alright? Jack told me to look after you. Doctor's orders."

There's something else too. Something he's not telling me. He doesn't seem like one to get concerned in other people's business.

He's still sitting there, looking at me. I know I have to say something to him, but the only thing that comes out are two truthful words, "Thank you."

His hand twitches slightly as I say this and I know my words have a bigger impact on him than what he's letting on.

"Yeah, yeah," he says, the edge returning to his voice.

I smile to myself as he tries to hide the goodness within him. He cares on the inside although he might not care to show it. Sawyer is definitely a mystery to me and, even though I've only just met him, I want to know the real him.

We don't say anything more to each other and soon sleep overtakes me. The last thing I remember before my mind slips into darkness is thinking that I wouldn't mind if rescue didn't come for a while. I'm finally happy again.


	2. Missing

For being stranded on an island, I sleep well that night. I wake up to find it's around mid-morning and that Sawyer is nowhere to be found. Oh well, I'm sure he'll show up sooner or later.

I sit up and no sooner afterward do I see a group of people sitting, talking to each other: a black guy and what appears to be his son, Charlie, the girl who was screaming, the guy who was giving CPR during the crash, and the Arab man. I decide that I have nothing better to do, so I go over and sit down next to Charlie.

I must've walked in halfway through a conversation because the first thing I hear is the black guy saying, "Whatever it was, it wasn't natural." He's talking about that thing we heard ripping down the trees.

I feel a pang in my stomach as he says this. Just because he's never seen something like it before doesn't mean it's bad or unnatural. It's just different. And this isn't even our island, so where does he get off deciding what's good and bad here?

I try to calm myself down and tell myself to enjoy what I have here. I like this place, it's different, it's mysterious. No need to ruin my good time by jumping in defense to what one person says.

I look over as Hurley comes over and sits down beside me, addressing everyone in the circle. "So, I was just looking inside the fuselage… It's pretty grim in there." I like how he states the obvious. "Do you think we should do something about the… B-O-D-Y-S?" he continues, his eyes shifting to the young boy.

Everyone in the group looks confused until the black guy asks, "What're you spelling', man? Bodies?"

"B-O-D-I-E-S," corrects the kid. I laugh a little on the inside. I like these people; I like this island. We're sitting here talking about dead bodies, all of us having just been through a trauma, and yet I feel good inside.

"That sounds like a good idea," says the Arab man, responding to Hurley's question.

"No," the blonde, screaming girl interjects. "They'll deal with it when they get here." Again, I pray that rescue doesn't come for a while. I don't know about everyone else, but I'm content here.

We all look up as we see Jack come over and announce, "I'm gonna go out and look for the cockpit. See if we can find a transceiver to send a distress signal to help the rescue team." Great, I think to myself sarcastically. The last thing I need right now is to have someone help the rescue team find us. I just need to be here right now. I don't want to go home.

Jack now turns to the guy who had been giving CPR during the crash and says, "You're gonna need to keep and eye on the wounded…."

The rest of Jack's instructions become jumbled because right then I hear the whispering start again. All around me it sounds like people are just out of reach, communicating to one another. Again, I can't make out what they say. I look around to be sure that I can't see the source of the whispers, and, like before, everyone is going about their business like nothing is happening.

Hurley must see that something is wrong because he turns to me and says, "You okay? You look a little pale." As he says this, the whispers stop and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Fine," I say to Hurley. I don't want him to think I'm insane, so I don't say anything. Not until I figure out what's going on.

I try to get back into the conversation. Jack is about to stand up and leave when Charlie gets up and says, "I'll come with. I want to help." Odd. Charlie doesn't seem like the type to go wandering through the jungle with that thing out there.

"No, I don't need anymore help," counters Jack. Sounds like he doesn't want to be responsible should anything happen to Charlie.

"No, it's cool. I don't really feel like standing still so…"Jack doesn't have a response for this although he looks like he wants to say something. "Excellent," says Charlie as he walks away with Jack.

I wonder why he's so eager to go. Is there something he wants to find in the cockpit? Something he lost? Something he promised to give back to someone when he next saw them?My mind starts to drift back to my necklace and I decide that I'm going to spend the day looking for it. It's not like I have anything else to do any way.

I quietly excuse myself from the conversation and head in the direction of the area where I woke up during the crash. I'm determined to find my necklace, even if it means searching the whole island. I dig through the sand for about fifteen minutes before deciding that it's not there. This does not discourage me. After all, if it were here, I would've seen it during the crash.

I get up and begin looking through the wreckage, asking anyone I meet if they've seen my necklace anywhere. Most of the people just look at me as though I should be worrying about more important things instead of a silly necklace, but others insist they'll keep an eye out for it. One of these people is Claire, the pregnant lady. She's nice and seems like she actually _will_ keep any eye out for it. I would like to stay and talk to her longer, but afternoon is setting in and I want to search as much as possible before it starts getting dark.

I'm only able to look around for about another hour, through the wreckage, in the sand, through some luggage, before it starts to rain. No, not rain. Torrential down pour.

Everyone runs for cover under anything that will shelter them. I want to keep looking but in a matter of minutes, everything becomes saturated and there's no point anymore.

I quickly run under the fallen wing from the plane where I see Claire trying to keep dry. Her and her baby appear to be fine which is good.

I look around to make sure everyone has been able to find shelter. That's when I see a bald man sitting in the middle of the pouring rain, looking up at the sky. He's smiling as though enjoying himself, and, for a brief second, I wish I were out in the rain with him. I mean, it's just rain. Its not like it can kill you, and besides, I can use a shower.

Suddenly, I jump in shock as more trees get ripped from the ground and the strange noises sound again. What is this place? What is this island? Where the hell are we?

"There it is again," Claire says behind me.

My mind suddenly races with thoughts of Jack and Charlie. Are they okay? What's going on out there? Are they safe? Can they see what it is? My heart lurches as I think of what would happen to them if they came in contact with it. I pray they make it back safely.

After about a half hour the rain stops. Not just tapers off. Stops, as thought the whole island was quickly shielded by a giant umbrella. This place gets more mysterious every second.

I quickly go back to searching for my necklace. I make sure every inch of the beach as been looked over before I head for the ocean. I mostly stay in the shallows, trying as best I can to see through the water. I move my feet around, hoping to feel it, but that does no good either. I don't want to admit it, but I'm beginning to believe it's gone forever.

I try desperately to push these thoughts out of my head, but they keep coming back. I need something to distract me, something, anything that will take my mind off of my necklace.

Now I hear it: shouts coming from the beach. I clamor out of the ocean and head toward the voices.

As I race up the beach, I see everyone in the camp encircling two people. I make my way into the circle, and in the middle I see Sawyer and the Arab man going at each other. The black guy from earlier this morning is trying (half-assed, I might add) to break them up. "Hey guys, come on. Hey." Both of them ignore him completely.

Sawyer swings for the Arab's face but the Arab man ducks and punches Sawyer in the gut. Sawyer falls to the ground pretending to be hurt, but then immediately comes back up, throwing sand in the Arab man's face. As the Arab guy turns away to block the sand, Sawyer jumps on him, pins him to the ground, and starts punching him in the face.

I can't stand this; it's too much. I don't care what the Arab man did; he doesn't deserve this. I thrust my way into the middle of the circle, intending to pull Sawyer off, but at the same time, Jack bursts in and grabs hold of Sawyer saying, "Hey! Break it up! Break it up! Get off!"

Sawyer struggles to get back at the Arab man, but I run over and help Jack restrain him. Likewise, the black guy goes to hold back the Arab man. Neither one can get to the other, but both are yelling insults.

I look around and everyone looks just as confused as I feel. What the hell made these two go at it like that?

Eventually, the Arab man makes light of what's going on. "Tell everyone what you told me! Tell them I crashed the plane! Go on! Tell them I made the plane crash!"

I let go of Sawyer for he's no longer trying to attack the Arab man, but I keep an eye on him nonetheless. I'm not going to let him hurt this guy. I don't care how young or childish people think I am. They'll see I can handle myself.

"What's going on?" Jack asks, putting himself between Sawyer and the Arab man.

"Look, my kid found these in the jungle," says the black guy, pulling a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and handing them to Jack. My stomach lurches. Was there a prisoner on the plane with us? Could it really be Sawyer or the Arab guy? But they both don't seem like the prisoner type. Well, Sawyer, maybe. But I don't think so.

"And this guy," says Sawyer, pointing to the Arab man, "was sitting in the back row of business class the whole flight, never got up. Hands folded underneath the blanket. And for some reason, just pointing this out, the guy I saw next to him didn't make it."

They start to shout at each other again and I see Sawyer edge toward the Arab man. I rush forward and grab both of Sawyer's arms, holding him back, just as they both try to lunge toward each other.

"Come on! Bring it!" shouts Sawyer.

"Stop!" A dark haired woman steps into the circle. Her shout is enough to shut them both up and I feel Sawyer give up on his attack. I don't let go, however. I'm not going to let him near the Arab man.

Everyone turns their attention to the dark haired girl. She waits until things have calmed down before continuing. "We found the transceiver but it's not working. Can anybody help?" I guess she went with Charlie and Jack to the cockpit. At least they're back all right.

There's silence for a few moments before the Arab man speaks up, "Yes, I might be able to." He steps forward to take the transceiver from the dark haired lady.

Sawyer must be begging for a fight because he starts in again. "Oh, great! Perfect! Let's trust this guy."

I'm close to kneeing Sawyer in the crotch just to shut him up. I've heard enough for one day.

"Hey, we're all in this together, man. Let's treat each other with a little respect," Hurley pipes up from the surrounding group of people.

"Shut up, lardo!" Sawyer retorts back. That's it. Sawyer's pissed me off and that's not the easiest thing to do. I try to force it all out of me and just calm down.

"Hey!" Jack steps up to Sawyer. "Give it a break."

Sawyer must not be able to think of anything to say because his next comment isn't as bad as his others. "Whatever you say, doc. You're the hero." He pulls out of my grip but not before I kick him in the back of the leg. It's not hard enough to bring him down, but I'm sure he'll have a bruise later.

He gives me a dirty look and stalks off. I take a deep breath and try to focus on what's going on. I can't. I wait until the conversation is over and everyone disperses before getting back to what I need to do, find my necklace. The last place for me to look is in the jungle.

I don't plan on going all the way in; just on the outskirts. I spend the next hour and a half sorting through leaves and bushes, climbing trees to look in the branches, digging through the dirt. It's not here. It's not anywhere. I break down and start sobbing in the middle of the dirt. I can't believe I've lost it. I promised him. I promised him I'd give it back when he came home. I told him I'd keep it safe. I absolutely need it back. I'll die without it. It's the only part of my family, the only thing I have left.

I hear someone coming. I quickly wipe away my tears and try to look calm as the Arab man, the dark haired girl, Charlie, the screaming girl, and the CPR guy come walking through the jungle toward me. Everyone stays back as the Arab guy comes over to me and keels down. "Lenny, what're you doing out here?"

"I'm trying to find my necklace," I reply. I try to hold it back but a tear slides down my cheek.

"We'll keep a look out for it," he says, "but right now you should go back to camp and rest."

"No, I can't go back," I say, wiping away the stray tear. "Not yet. There's too much stuff going on." I look over at the group of people. "Let me come with you."

He smiles slightly. "You don't even know where we're going." I can tell that's his way of saying "you're too young."

"So?" I ask. "It doesn't matter. Back home I used to be the best rock climber in the county. If you're going on a hike through the jungle, you're going to need someone who can tell you where to climb and where not to climb." I avoid the tiny detail that I haven't rock climbed in three years. I'm a little rusty, but nothing major.

"He lets this argument sink in for a second, then says, "I suppose it's alright. There are worse people who could come I suppose." I sure he's thinking of Sawyer.

He stands up and offers me his hand to help me up. "Sayid," he says, formerly introducing himself.

"Lenny," I say, taking his hand and standing up.

"Nice to meet you, Lenny," says Sayid, walking back over toward the group of people.

I see him go up to the dark haired girl and say, "Kate, Lenny will be joining us."

She gives him a disbelieving look and whispers, "Are you sure?" Damn it! Just because I'm seventeen years old years old doesn't mean I'm incapable of doing anything!

"She's experienced in things most of us are not," Sayid explains. I'm thankful he's allowing me to come. I can use the fresh air, to help clear my head.

Kate doesn't argue with Sayid anymore, just plows on with the hike. I fall instep beside Charlie, glad to see a familiar face.

"Where are we going?" I ask him quietly. I don't want the others to know I'm absolutely clueless.

"I'm not too sure, but I think it's got something to do with that transceiver thing," he explains.

I look over at Sayid and see that he's holding what looks like a complicated walkie-talkie. I guess he was able to get the transceiver working after all. I smile, thinking of how Sawyer was wrong when he said we shouldn't trust Sayid. Stupid bastard.

I feel someone brush up against my arm, and, as I look over expecting to see the screaming girl, lo and behold, speak of the devil, I see Sawyer. He keeps walking, past me and past Kate, bumping into her as he passes.

"You decided to join us," she says to him.

"I'm a complex guy, sweetheart," he retorts back at her. I see Kate and Sayid exchange an annoyed look.

I take a deep breath in and release it in a quiet sigh. We plow on.


	3. Of Whispers and Polar Bears

We walk in silence for about an hour. I don't know where our final destination is, but I'm guessing it's high, seeing as we're heading for the bottom of some cliffs. I see Sayid check on me out of the corner of his eye every now and then. He still sees me as a kid. A useless child who will eventually get hurt and slow everyone down. I'll show him. If we actually are headed for the base of those cliffs, then he'll see that I can handle myself out here. He has no idea what I've been through.

After about another half hour we reach the cliffs. My heart is beating with excitement. This is my element. Finally I can contribute to our journey.

"What are we doing here?" the screaming girl asks.

"We have to go up the mountain," Sayid explains. "It will be faster than going around."

Sayid hands Kate the transceiver and begins to examine the best way to begin the climb. As he's doing that, I quietly here the CPR guy whisper to the screaming girl, "Regret coming on the hike yet, Shannon?"

"Nope," Shannon says back to him. It's like she's trying to prove something to him. I can see that he's getting frustrated with her, but he says no more.

Sayid gets done examining the mountain and walks over to me. "Are you sure you're capable of doing this?" he asks. I've had enough of this. Stop treating me like a child.

"I told you before that -," he cuts me off with a small smile.

"I mean your arm," he says, indicating the bandage still protecting my stitches.

I take the bandage off to find that the wound has healed and the stitches have come out. Jack will never believe this.

"I guess it's okay," I say to him, disbelief filling my voice.

"Then lead the way."

I walk over to the rock and try to find the best place to climb up. Eventually I'm able to map out a route of the best places to climb, and I waste no time in beginning the assent. One by one they follow behind me. I have to slow myself down for their benefit or else they'll lose the path to the top. I don't mind. It feels good to be climbing again. I haven't done this since… Well, let's just say I haven't done this in three years. Tears well up inside me as I think of my necklace. I quickly wipe them away and focus on climbing. I can't think about that anymore. I'm just going to have to accept the fact that it's gone.

Everyone makes it to the top safely, and I smile inwardly. They now know I can take care of myself.

The last person to make it over the ledge is Shannon. The CPR guy holds out his hand to help her up. Shannon ignores it, saying, "I don't need your help, Boone."

The guy named Boone keeps his hand extended incase Shannon needs it. She struggles, but she doesn't.

"Let's keep moving," Sayid says. I guess he really wants to get the transceiver working.

We plow on for another half hour, still in silence. We come to an area of high grass, and the trees have thinned out. We're tired and I can feel people getting restless, one of which is Sawyer.

"Okay, wide open space. We should check the radio, see if we're good."

I silently agree. We're not up as high as we could be, but it wouldn't hurt to just check it.

"We're not going to have any reception here," Sayid explains. True, but come on, Sayid, you never know.

"Just try it," Sawyer argues. Please don't start this again.

"I don't want to waste the batteries." Sayid's forcing himself to stay calm. I pray Sawyer doesn't say anything more. I can't take two fights in one day.

"I'm not asking you to keep it on all day," Sawyer retorts back.

"We're still blocked by the mountain." I'm impressed Sayid has stayed so calm.

"Just check the damn radio!" Sawyer yells.

"If I 'just check', we might not have any juice left when we get to-." A loud rumbling in the jungle ahead of us cuts off Sayid's shouts. The grass is too tall for us to see what it is, but something is definitely moving towards us.

"Oh, my God," Shannon squeaks beside me.

"What the hell's that?" Boone asks to nobody in particular.

"Something's coming," Kate states.

Sounds of running, grunting, and growling are coming from in front of us. I don't know what to do. Should we run from it or stay where we are and hope it doesn't see us?

"It's coming towards us I think," Charlie says.

"Come on, let's move," Kate says to us. Her and Sayid quickly take off running, closely followed by Boone pulling Shannon along, then Charlie and me.

We can't outrun this thing, there's no way. Where should we run? Should we hide? Should we get into one of the trees and hope it can't climb? God, please help us.

Whispers. All around me. I can't focus. Where am I running? I think I got turned around. I'm disoriented. The whispers continue and I fall behind from the group. Amid all the whispers I hear one voice that stands out. One I can actually understand. "Go back to Sawyer." That's it. The voice dies out, as do the whispers, and I'm left standing in the middle of the jungle.

I'm forced with a choice. Do I try to find shelter and protection or do I go back to Sawyer? I make my decision, one that _I_ never really made. I run back to where Sawyer is still standing, waiting for that thing - whatever it is - to come charging through the jungle.

He stands his ground. I can feel the earth beneath me thud, as this thing gets closer. All of a sudden, Sawyer pulls out a gun from his jeans and starts firing it at this thing. One, two three shots go off, but it still charges straight for us. Four, five, six, seven. It doesn't slow down at all. Eight, nine. It's ten feet away now. It launches itself to jump on Sawyer as he fires the tenth shot.

The beast falls to the ground; its breath coming in slow gasps. As I look down at it, I can't believe what I'm seeing. Sawyer is in shock too. He doesn't even ask me why I came back. Thank God. How could I explain that?

Slowly, everyone comes back to take a look at their attacker. Everyone is stunned by what it is. Too stunned to speak.

Shannon is the first to break the silence. "That…. That's a big bear."

"You think that's what killed the pilot?" Boone asks. I don't know what he's talking about, and I honestly don't care.

"No," Charlie replies. "No, that's a tiny, teeny version compared to that."

Am I the only one who recognizes the obvious here?

"Guys, this isn't just a bear," Kate says. Finally, someone understands what I'm thinking."It's a polar bear," she concludes.

Boone bends down to take a look at this impossible animal. After a few seconds he stands back up. "That can't be a polar bear."

"It's a polar bear," Kate, Sayid, Charlie and I all say in unison.

"Wait a minute," Shannon interjects. "Polar bears don't usually live in the jungle."

"Spot-on," Charlie says to her.

"No, polar bears don't live near this far south," Sayid, states. This is weird. I mean, a polar bear! What is it doing _out here_? Are there more?

"This one does," states Boone.

"Did," Sawyer corrects. "It did."

Kate turns her attention to Sawyer. I sense something other than the bear is on her mind. "Where did that come from?" she asks him.

"Probably Bear Village. How the hell do I know?" Sawyer answers sarcastically.

"Not the bear, the gun," she asks hurriedly. I glance down at the gun Sawyer is still holding. I was so confused by the appearance of the polar bear that I hadn't even thought of the gun until now.

Now everyone else looks at Sawyer, intrigued.

"I got it off one of the bodies." I don't know whether to believe him or not.

Sayid doesn't. "One of the bodies?" he asks, doubt filling his voice.

"Yeah, one of the bodies," Sawyer retorts back. Will these two never get along?

"People don't carry guns on planes," Shannon points out to him. Is this a mistake in his story? Did he really get it someplace else?

"They do if they're a U.S. Marshal, sweetcheeks. There was one on the plane," he counters. If this is all an elaborate lie, he's good at it. What was it he said to me last night? _"You've got a thing or two to learn about conning."_ Does that mean he's an expert at it?

"How do you know that?" Kate asks.

"I saw a guy lying there with an ankle holster, so I took the gun, thought it might come in handy," he explains. "Guess what? I just shot a bear!"

"So why do you think he's a Marshal?"

"Because he had a clip-on badge. I took that too, thought it was cool." I'm surprised he's answering all of Kate's questions so calmly. Lord knows if Sayid had asked these questions, they'd be at each other's throats by now.

"I know who you are," Sayid cuts in. "You're the prisoner."

My stomach jolts. Could it really be Sawyer? I quickly look at him.

"I'm the _what?_ he asks accusingly.

"You found a gun on a U.S. Marshal? Yes, I believe you did. You knew where it was because you were the one he was bringing back to the States. Those handcuffs were on you. That's how you knew there was a gun." Sayid's explanation makes sense. But secretly I hope it's not Sawyer. There's a part of me that wants to trust him.

"Piss off!" Sawyer hollers back.

"That's who you are, you son-of-a-bitch!" Sayid retorts back. He believes he's right. I pray he's not.

"Be as suspicious of me as I am of you," says Sawyer.

"You are the prisoner," Sayid says again.

"Fine! I'm the criminal. You're the terrorist," Sawyer says. I notice how he says "criminal" and not "prisoner". Play-on words. My thoughts go back to his comment about conning. "We can all play a part. Who do you want to be?"

As he approaches a disgusted looking Shannon, Kate comes up behind him, rips the gun out of his jeans and points it at him. We all step back, except Sawyer, in shock. I don't know about him, but I don't want to be in front of that thing if she fires it off.

"Does anybody know how to use a gun?" she asks us.

"I think you just pull the trigger," Charlie states.

"Don't use the gun," Sayid says.

"I want to take it apart," she explains. Thank God for that.

Sayid explains how to take it apart. I don't really follow what he says, but Kate apparently does because within seconds she's removed both rounds of bullets. She gives the rounds to Sayid and hands the empty gun back to Sawyer. He goes to take it back from her but instead grabs her arm and pulls her close to him. He whispers something to her and she responds back, and then walks away.

I breathe out a sigh of relief as Sayid walks over to Kate. This island is incredible. First the whispers, then the noises, now a polar bear. What's next?

I'm loving this island more and more every second.


	4. Interation

Sayid comes back with Kate and we continue walking. We keep up the pace for another twenty minutes until we come to a vast field. My legs are beginning to ache, and I don't know how much longer I can continue walking. Aren't we there yet? But I'm determined not to show weakness, so I don't complain.

I hear Sawyer's voice behind me, "Oh, now's a good time to check the radio. Now before, but now."

"We're up higher," Sayid explains, turning on the complicated transceiver.

"Yes, we are," Sawyer states as if Sayid had just pointed out the most obvious thing in the world.

A few seconds of silence go by as Sayid fiddles with the radio and then, "Hey, we've got a bar!"

I have no idea what that is, nor do I think does anyone else, but it sounds good.

Sayid holds down a button on the walkie-talkie and shouts, "Mayday! Mayday!"

We all quickly run over to see what's going on. As I get there, a shrill, high-pitched sound emanates from the transceiver.

"What is that?" Kate asks.

"Feedback," Sayid states.

"Feedback from what? What would do that?" Kate asks quickly.

"I don't know," Sayid says.

"I'll tell you what would do that," Sawyer interjects, "this guy not fixing the radio. This thing doesn't even work."

"Shut up," I say venomously, quickly turning my attention back to the radio.

"No. No, no, no, no it's not broken," says Sayid, thinking out loud. "We can't transmit… because something else is already transmitting."

"Transmitting from where?"

"What?"

"Somewhere close. The signal's strong," concludes Sayid.

"Somewhere close?" Charlie asks. "You mean on the island? That's great!"

"Maybe it's other survivors," Boone says, killing everyone's hope of rescue.

"From our plane?" Shannon retorts. "How would they-?"

"What kind of transmission is it?" Sawyer asks calmly.

"Could be a sat phone, maybe a radio signal."

"Can we listen to it?" Kate asks.

"Let me get the frequency first, hold on," says Sayid, adjusting some knobs and pushing buttons.

"There's no transmission," Sawyer throws in, cockily.

"Shut up!" Kate's had enough with him too.

"The rescue party, it has to be," Charlie concludes.

Suddenly a voice comes through the speakers. It's the voice of a female; maybe 35 years old. She's not speaking English, however.

"That's French! The French are coming! I've never been so happy to hear the French!" Charlie exclaims. He has the biggest smile on his face, and before I realize what is happening, he embraces me in a victorious hug. He's obvious enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself smiling along with him.

"I never took French," Kate states. "What is she saying?"

"Does anyone speak French?" Sayid addresses us.

French, no, I think to myself. Portuguese, yes.

"She does," Boone says, pointing to Shannon.

"No, I don't! What?" Shannon turns to Boone, with a look of panic in her eyes.

"What are you talking about? You spent a year in Paris!" Boone runs over to her. I guess they know each other.

"Drinking. Not studying." Shannon argues back.

A new voice comes over the radio and cuts off the French transmission. It's a man speaking English. "Interation 7-2-9-4-5-3-1."

That voice… it sounds so… dead. It reminds me of one of those robotic answering machines. Before I can really focus on it, however, the French transmission picks back up again.

"Okay, what's that?" Charlie asks, indicating that weird voice.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!" Sayid crescendos.

" 'No, no, no,' what?" Shannon asks.

"The batteries are dying!"

"How much time do we have?" I ask.

"Not much," is his simple reply.

"I've heard you speak French," Boone rounds on Shannon. "Just listen to this! Listen!"

"I can't!" She shouts. I'm beginning to not like her.

"Do you speak French or not? Because that would be nice," Sawyer threatens.

The man's voice comes on again, just as cold and lifeless as before. "Interation 7-2-9-4-5-3-2." Directly after, like before, the French transmission picks back up.

"That voice is weird. What is that?" Charlie asks.

"Come on. Come on," we all goad her.

"It's… It's repeating," Shannon says.

"She's right," Sayid says. "It's a loop…'Interation.'…It's repeating the same message. It's a counter."

"Interation," the dead voice starts again.

"The next number will end '5-3-3'," Sayid predicts.

"7-2-9-4-5-3-3." He was right.

"Does anyone know what the hell he's talking about?" Sawyer asks.

"It's a running count of the number of times the message has repeated," he explains, irritated. "It's roughly 30 seconds long, so… How long…?" He begins to do the math. I pray he's one of those math prodigies who can do operations like the quadratic formula in his head. Goodness knows I would need some paper and a LOT of time.

"Don't forget to carry the 1, chief," Sawyer comments. The man can't keep his mouth shut, can he?

Shannon finally takes the transceiver as the French transmission starts again.

"She's saying… 'Please.' She's saying, 'Please, help me. Please, come get me,'" Shannon translates.

"Or she's not! You don't even speak French!" I've never seen anyone so eager to be so unhelpful in my entire life.

"Let her listen!" Kate yells.

"Shut up, man!" Boone shouts.

"Guys, the battery. The battery," Charlie reminds us. Time is of the essence.

Shannon holds the radio to her ear and tries to concentrate. " 'I'm alone now. I'm… on the island alone. Please, someone come. The others, they're… they're dead. It killed them. It killed them all.'" The batteries die. A strange whirring comes over the speakers, and then nothing. Silence.

We all stand there in shock. My heart is pounding. This island is freaky.

Finally, Sayid speaks up. "Sixteen years."

"What?" I ask.

"Sixteen years…and five months. That's the count."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Boone asks, confused.

"The interations," Sayid explains. "It's a distress call. A plea for help. A Mayday. If the counter's right, it's been playing over and over… for 16 years."

"Someone else was stranded here?" Boone asks, incredulously.

"Maybe someone came for them." Kate tries to sound optimistic.

"If someone came, why is it still playing?" Sawyer asks soberly.

We all look around at each other, no person daring to speak a word. The silence doesn't matter; we know that we're all thinking the same thing. We might never be rescued…. Just like the French lady. We could die out here, like the people she was with. _It killed them all._ That could be us.

"Guys…where are we?" Charlie sums it up perfectly.

A chill creeps up my spine as I think of sharing this island with polar bears and some kind of tree-ripping monster. My heart pounds in my chest, willing me to wake up. I must still be asleep on the plane. None of this can be real…. But it is.

"We should head back to camp," Sayid says after a few moments. We silently agree and turn back toward camp. Toward home. This is our home now. We walk for another twenty minutes in total silence. Each one of us is trying to cope with this starling realization and each one of us not daring to think it possible.

"It's getting dark," Boone pipes up.

"Then pick up the pace," Sawyer remarks, without skipping a beat.

"Hick," Boone shoots back.

"A little louder?" Sawyer threatens.

"Stop trying to pick fights," I glare up at Sawyer. He looks back at me, the expression on his face impossible to read.

"We should make camp," Sayid suggests, slowing down.

"What? Here?" Shannon asks.

"Yes, here," says Sayid.

"I'm not stopping," Sawyer says, still walking. "Y'all have a nice cookout."

"Excellent, walk through the jungle in the dark," Sayid says.

"Oooo, afraid the trees are gonna get me?" Sawyer mocks.

"No," Sayid says. "What is knocking down the trees will get you."

"Well, you're so worried about me, how 'bout you give me the clip back?" he says, taking out the bullet free gun.

"Put your gun back in your pants, Sawyer," Kate says, with an air of authority. "Sayid's right. You keep walking, you're not gonna make it to the beach."

"Yeah, why's that?" he asks.

I see Charlie give Kate a sideways glance. Odd. I remind myself to ask him about it later.

"Trust me," is all Kate says. Surprisingly, it's enough to make him stay.

Night falls quickly and we scramble about in what little light we have to make a fire. Thank God Sawyer has a lighter in his pocket. At least he's not a total loss.

We gather around the fire, none of us tired enough for sleep. I look around at the faces of people I barely know. Faces that I will soon come to call my family. Family. It was three years ago this week that my brother was gone from this world. And now on the anniversary of his death, I too am finally gone from the world. Poetic.

"So, someone explain to me why no one is going to find us," Boone says, interrupting my thoughts.

Sayid stands up and begins searching for something. In a few moments he has found what he is looking for: A rock the size of a baby's head, and a three-foot stick. He dips the tip of the stick into the fire until it ignites, then he turns to face us.

"This is Australia," he says, placing the rock on the ground. "This is us." He indicates the lit branch.

"Nice stick," Sawyer comments.

"Two days ago, we take off from Sydney," Sayid continues. He hovers the stick in the air and slowly moves it away from the rock. "We fly along the same northeast route every commercial airliner bound for Los Angeles does." The stick maintains its steady course. "Now, the pilot. You said he lost communication with the ground, correct?" he asks, addressing Kate.

"Yeah, six hours in," she answers. "He turned around and headed for Fiji."

"So we changed course," Sayid says, veering the stick off in a different direction. "Regrettably, no one knew we changed course. The turbulence hit." He shakes the stick so that a few tongues of fire hit the ground. They go out upon contact. "We know the rest." He brings the lit end of the stick to the ground and brushes out the flames.

"The pilot said we were over a thousand miles off course," Kate states.

"Yeah, but they'll find us," Charlie says. He sounds as though he's trying to convince himself as much as us. "They have satellites in space that can take pictures of your license plate."

"If only we were all wearing license plates," Sayid says.

"Well, aren't you the pessimist," Charlie quietly states.

"Basic photography: point and shoot," Sayid explains. "Satellites can shoot, but they must be told where to point."

"Oh…. Bollocks."

"Okay, really enjoyed the puppet show. Fantastic," Sawyer chimes in. "So we're stuck in the middle of damn nowhere… How 'bout we talk about that other thing? You know, the transmission Abdul picked up on his little radio. The French chick that said, 'They're all dead.' The transmission's been on a loop for… how long was it, Freckles?" He looks at Kate. Nice nickname. What was it he called me last night? Sassafras? I guess it's better than Freckles.

"Sixteen years," Kate answers reluctantly.

"Right. Let's talk about that."

We all sit in silence. What's to talk about? We all know that there are two chances of us getting rescued: slim and none.

"Well, we have to tell the others when we get back," Boone states.

"Tell them what exactly?" Shannon asks.

"What he heard," Boone retorts.

"We didn't hear anything. I'm not a stupid translator," Shannon throws back.

"No one's going to tell them anything," Sayid declares. "To relay what we heard without fully understand it will cause a panic. If we tell them what we know, we take away their hope. And hope is a very dangerous thing to lose."

"So we lie," Kate says. More or less, that is what Sayid is asking us to do.

We all glance around at each other. The decision has been made. That is what we will do.

I glance to Sawyer as he glances to me, and we hold each other's gaze for a few seconds. I'm the one to break eye contact. I look to the fire for its hypnotic powers. Should I trust him? Should I trust anyone here? Will they trust me? My mind becomes clouded with thoughts and eventually I lay down as sleep overtakes me.

I'm woken up by the sound of movement and someone asking, "What're you doing?"

I open my eyes to see Boone and Sayid standing there, Sayid giving an accusing glare. Everyone else is woken up too and they stand up, trying to get a better view of what's going on.

"I'm standing guard. You heard what they said is out there," Boone says to Sayid.

"You took my gun off me, boy?" Sawyer asks Boone. I look down to see Boone is holding the empty gun that Sawyer had. He was probably trying to get the bullets from Sayid when he woke up.

"Please, you've never even held a gun," Shannon brags. "He doesn't believe in guns. He goes on marches."

"I don't go on marches."

"Give it back to me," Sayid orders.

"Yeah, give it to Aljazeera. He'll protect us," Sawyer says sarcastically.

"Aljazeera's a network," Charlie corrects.

"I'll keep the damn gun," Boone states.

"We should give it to her." Shannon points to Kate who hasn't said a word in all the madness.

"Yeah, Kate should hold the gun," Charlie seconds.

"Fine with me," Sayid agrees.

Boone is silent. He makes no move to give the gun to Kate, and for a brief second I wonder if he will shoot us.

"Well?" Sayid asks, threateningly.

Boone looks around at us all the slowly walks over to a closed off Kate and hands her the gun. She accepts it with an unwanting air about her.

"Can we go back to sleep now, please?" Sawyer asks impatiently.

We silently agree and lay back down. Before I'm able to drift off to sleep, however, my mind goes back to the voice I heard. The voice among the whispers. How did it know that I would be safe if I went back to Sawyer? How did it even know Sawyer's name? Is it watching me? I quickly look around to see if anyone is following me, then quietly edge closer to a sleeping Sawyer.

I try to recall the sound of the voice but it's lost from my memory. I don't even remember if it was a man or a woman's voice. Why? Why don't I remember? Why can't I recall that voice? Why can't anyone else hear it? Why do I only have questions and no answers?

My mind becomes flooded with thoughts and I move even closer to Sawyer, desperate for protection. I wish my brother were alive. I wish I could confide in Donovan. I wish I had my necklace back. I close my eyes and slip into a restless sleep.


	5. Reunited

Okay, so in honor of the Season 5 LOST premiere tonight, I am posting chapter 5 a little early. And maybe, in honor of the premiere tonight, more than 2 people will review. (Thank you to Jac Danvers and Sci-Fi Loony who have graciously reviewed since the start of this story.) So come on, review please!! Thank you, and enjoy the chapter!!

I wake up to the bright sun shining through my eyelids. I hold my hand up to shade my face, and I see everyone is already awake except for Charlie - who is just waking up now - and Shannon.

I brush the morning crust from my eyes and ask, "Do we have any water?"

"Yeah, here you go," says Charlie, handing me a bottle.

"Thanks." I drink a sip or two, savoring every drop, and hand it back. The cool water is refreshing, and I realize that in a matter of days, our water supply will begin to run dangerously low. We'd better find more soon.

"So, you really have both our albums?" Charlie asks, interrupting my thoughts.

"What? Oh, yeah, I love you guys. You still together?"

"In the middle of a comeback right now, actually. I've got a few songs in mind," he rambles. I like him. He's cool. "My favorite though, is called Saved. Bit ironic once we get rescued, huh?"

I smile. I don't mind being here. I really don't. It's better than life back home. Way better.

"We need to get back to camp," Sayid announces, now that Shannon is fully awake.

"Fine by me," Shannon says, annoyed. I guess she regrets coming.

We head back to camp. The trip is uneventful. No guns, no French transmissions, and no polar bears. Bliss. Well, as blissful as you can get on this island.

Right before we enter camp, Sayid reminds us not to mention the French transmission. He says he's going to explain to everyone that we were unable to acquire a signal but that we will try again. I don't really see the point of trying again. We obviously can't transmit if there's already a transmission. And with all the polar bears and monsters and whatnot, we're not exactly going to go exploring in search for the place where it's being transmitted.

We enter the camp and immediately I break free from the group and go lounge out on the wing of the plane. I want to be alone. But at the same time, I guess I've been alone for the last three years. Damn. Three years. It feels like so much longer. Three years of crying. Three years of praying. Three years of waiting. Hopelessly.

I sit there for a while just thinking about it all. Lost in my own thoughts. Probably not the best thing for me to be doing. I look up as I feel Sawyer sit down beside me. I don't know whether to be pissed that he's here or to be glad that he chose to come and sit with me.

"You know, I found this wing _first_," he says jokingly, a grin on his face. _I'm guess I'm glad he's here._ "So," he continues, his grin turning into a smug smile, "why the hell'd you come back for me while I was shooting at a polar bear?" _Strike that, reverse it._

My stomach lurches. He hasn't forgotten; he did notice. What do I say?

"I must've run in a circle and made my way back to you." I try to keep the straightest face I can, but his smugness only grows.

"Come on, darlin'. You can do better than that."

I let out a frustrated sigh. I want to scream as loud as I can. He's going to think I'm crazy.

"You won't believe me," I explain.

"Probably not," he says, "but my guess is that you don't half believe it either."

I stop. I don't have a response to that. He's right; I don't know whether to believe it or not. I can't be possible. But it happened. I heard that voice, I listened to it, and it knew that that bear wouldn't kill me.

"And judging by the fact that when I woke up and you were breathing down my neck," he continues, "I'd say you're pretty damn scared of what it was."

I hate him. I hate that he's right. I hate that he knows more about me than I do.

I'm about to tell him everything - the whispers, the voice, everything - when the whispers start again. Encircling me, enclosing me. I close my eyes and put my hands to my head. What the heck is going on? I feel Sawyer stand up to leave, and as I open my eyes, I see him heading in the direction of the broken plane. It takes everything I've got to speak, to hear my own voice, to call out to him.

"Where're you going?" I practically shout.

Silence. The whispers stop. I take a deep breath in relief as Sawyer turns back to me.

"Not that it's any of your business," he states, "but I'm going trick-or-treating."

He means the plane. He means the bodies. He's going to raid the bodies. I should be repulsed by this news, but instead another thought comes into my mind.

"Do you mind keeping an eye out for a necklace while you're in there? It's a silver cross embedded with wine colored stones."

"Why?" he asks suspiciously.

"Please." I give him a look that tells him not to push the subject. He doesn't.

He pushes another one instead.

"Only if you tell me why you came back for me."

Fine, he wants to know; I'll tell him. Anything that will give me a chance for my necklace back.

"Remember when I told you about the whispers?" I don't wait for a response. "Well, they kept happening, even when I was running from that bear. But this time, I could hear what one of them said. It told me to go back to you… So I did. Turns out, I was safe. The bear never attacked… Any other questions?"

He still doesn't believe me, and I don't really care. His opinion doesn't matter right now. He's lost for words, so he turns around and heads for the plane without saying anything.

As I look out at the plane, the clouds on the horizon catch my attention. Dark, black, ominous. Another storm is coming. Yet another mystery to this great island.

No sooner does Sawyer leave, however, then another person comes over to me. The bald man from yesterday in the rain. He sits down beside me and waits a few moments before finally speaking.

"I couldn't help overhear you talking to him. To Sawyer. About what you hear."

Great. Fricken perfect. Now everyone's going to find out about the whispers and I'm going to be deemed crazy.

"You know we've only been stranded here for a few days, but even from the start I could tell this place is different. Special."

Okay, he's got my attention.

"I'm sorry. We haven't met. I'm Locke. John Locke."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Locke. I'm Lenny Hume."

He extends his hand for me to shake, and I do.

"So, you think this island is special too?" I ask.

"I know it is," he says, smiling.

"You don't think I'm crazy? You know, hearing the whispers and all."

"I think that there are mysteries to this island that we don't know yet… Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

"Thank you," I say. Relief floods through me.

"You wanna know my secret?" he asks.

I look at him for a few seconds, then - after deciding that he's not going to kill me - I say, "Okay."

"When we crashed on this island, Lenny… a miracle happened to me." He pauses, waiting for my reaction. I nod, showing him I understand and that I want to hear more.

"Before I boarded the plane in Sydney… I had been paralyzed from the waist down for four years." He pauses again.

"How…?" is all I can manage to say.

"It's this island," he continues. "There's something about it that I don't understand yet, but it… it fixed me. It made me whole again… And the whispers you hear, and the voice, they're all a part of the mysteries here."

I'm at a loss for words. He seems to understand because he smiles again.

"It scared me at first too. But don't worry. You're not alone."

He looks at me for another second or so before getting up and walking away.

I'm shocked. I don't know what to think. What the heck was that? Was that his way of making fun of me? Or was he being serious? And was he smiling when he walked away? A smile of amusement or was it a genuine smile?

The answer to every single one of these questions is simply: I don't know.

What did he say his name was? John Locke? I'll have to keep an eye on Mr. Locke. See if he's telling the truth.

Something catches my eye at that moment. Is that a wheelchair? Charlie and Claire are pulling something across the sand… and it looks like a wheelchair. They're using it to transport some luggage. That's nice of him to help Claire.

So…is that Locke's wheelchair? Well, his _old_ wheelchair? Was he being serious about everything? Part of me really hopes so. I don't want to be the only one who realizes how truly mysterious this place is. And his story does make sense… well, to me anyway. When he came here, he was healed of paralysis, and when I came here my arm was healed in a matter of hours when it should've taken weeks.

I glance around to see if I can find Locke, and to my surprise, I see him sitting across the beach staring at me, smiling. I gaze at him for a few moments before mouthing the words "thank you." He nods, and then goes about fiddling with something in his hands. I try to see what it is, but it's too far away and too small to make out what it could be.

I turn my attention away from Locke and toward the gaping entrance to the tomb of bodies in the plane. I shudder as I think of Sawyer being in there alone… Well, as alone as you can be while being surrounded by loads of bodies. I stare at the entrance, waiting him to come out - to be holding everything he could pilfer except my necklace - but he doesn't.

Instead, he comes out holding a bag filled with whatever and, without saying a word to me, he smiles that smug little smile of his and strolls on by. He looks as pleased as can be with himself, and I just want to scream. But I try to contain myself as I catch up to him.

"So, did you find it?" I ask casually, while inside his answer can't come fast enough for me.

"Hell yeah, I did!" My heart jumps in relief. Thank God! Sure, Sawyer can be an ass, but at least he actually cares. "Got some booze, smokes, hell I even made a few bucks. Hit the damn jackpot in there if you ask me."

My stomach drops. That lying son-of-a-bitch! If he only _knew_ how much that necklace means to me, he wouldn't be messing like this. I'll kill him!

"What about my necklace?" I try to stay as calm as possible.

"What? This old thing?" he asks, grinning, as he pulls my necklace out of his pocket and dangles it from his fingers.

My eyes fill with tears as I gaze upon the most beautiful thing in the world. Silver cross embedded with wine colored stones. Tarnished slightly in places from it being handled constantly.

I reach out to take it from him, but he pulls it back, saying, "Uh ah ah."

I look up at him in disbelief. Could he really be that cruel?

"Sawyer, please," I say, the tears sliding down my face now. "I'd rather have had lost it forever than have you show it to me and take it away."

"Relax, Sassafras. You'll get it back. Just as soon as you tell me why it means so damn much to you."

No! He doesn't get to know that information! He doesn't deserve to know!

I lunge for the necklace, hoping I've caught him off guard, but he pulls away just as my hand is about to clasp it. I try again, but he pulls away faster this time. Now I'm pissed, so instead of reaching for the necklace, I aim a kick at his crotch. Unfortunately, I'm too slow and he jumps out of the way.

"Hey! Hey, calm down. It's not that hard. Just one simple question, and then you get it back." There's joy in his voice. He knows how much pain this is causing me.

When I don't answer, he turns around and says, "Okay, then. I guess I'll see you later." He starts to walk away, smirking.

"Fine! You want to know the answer, fine!" Rage has reached critical mass and tears are pouring from my face. "My mother and father both died when I was young! No big deal right? I'll just live with my older brother? That's cool. Whatever. Doesn't matter that I never really knew him cos he's like 20 years older than me, but whatever! He always carried around that cross. A friend gave it to my brother as a gift when my brother joined the monastery. He always had it with him, never took it out of his pocket."

I can't contain myself. My voice is shaking. "Three years ago, my brother decided that he wanted to try to win a sailing race. A solo race around the world. Whatever, right? No big deal. I was scared _out of my mind_ for him. So he gave me his cross and told me to take care of it until he got back. So I took it and kept it safe. Well, guess what, Sawyer?" I'm furious. I am just staring daggers at him. "Three days later I get a call saying that his boat went off radar, capsized and he drowned. So yeah! That necklace is pretty damn important to me! Cos it's the only thing of his I have left. It's the only hope I have that he might still come home and I'll be there to give it back to him!"

I glare at him, daring him to say something - to make a move or smile - anything other than him returning my necklace.

Slowly, he reaches out his hand and drops the necklace in mine. He walks away to deal with his own thoughts while I break down right there, clutching all that I have left of my brother. I'm never letting it go. Never letting it out of my sight again.

I don't know how long I sit in the sand - could be minutes or hours - before it starts to rain again. I don't feel like moving. It's just rain. So what if I get wet?

It must matter to somebody though, because I feel someone run up beside me, pull me up by my shoulders and run me to shelter. When I realize what had happened, I look up to see Charlie standing next to me.

"You all right?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say.

"You sure?"

"I'm fine," I reply.

"Need help putting that on?" he asks as he sees me fumble with the clasp on my necklace.

"Please."

I lift up my wet hair and he easily fastens it around my neck.

"Thanks." I'm glad to know Charlie. He's a great guy.

We sit down and wait for the rain to stop. Meanwhile, he starts to talk about Driveshaft again. I don't really mind. Everything is right with the world. I'm stranded in the most mysterious, intriguing, amazing, scary place imaginable, away from the rest of humanity. I get to start a new life here with people who I've already started to consider friends: Charlie, Hurley, Sayid, even Sawyer… sometimes. I'm surrounded by mystery that only me and Locke seem to realize. And to complete everything, I have my - no… Desmond's - cross back.

I couldn't be happier.

Okay, so there was a little bit of a plot twist right there. Unless you realized already that Lenny's last name is Hume, which is also Desmond's last name. So yes, Desmond is Lenny's brother. So, plot twist? To some, yes. To others, nope.

**Thank you for reading!! And please please please review. (I really appreciate it). And don't forget to watch LOST tonight!!**


	6. Lies and Secrets

Charlie and I talk for the duration of the storm. He clues me in on what it's like to be in a band, how his first love was actually the piano and _not_ the guitar, and how he was forced to check his guitar during Customs and how he has little hope of finding it again on the island.

Surprisingly, after he is done ranting about himself, he asks me about my life. I tell him the basics. And I mean the _basics_. I totally skip _everything_ I told Sawyer. I tell him that I live (or rather, _lived)_ in Oxford with a friend/guardian named Donovan who is a physisist at Oxford University, how Donovan got called away to Austrailia for a few weeks to examine some area of land that was demonstrating some signs of "healing properties", how Donovan got on an early flight back to Oxford while I decided to get on a plane to L.A. and meet an old friend for a few days. Which is how I ended up here.

After that, there is a lull in the conversation, so I figure now is as good a time as any to ask him what happened when he, Jack and Kate went in search of the cockpit. Charlie's face drops from a smile for a half second, and that scares me. What could've happened out there? They all got back safely, so surely everything is okay. Right?

He takes a moment befor he answers. He looks around to make sure no one can hear us before turning back to me. He opens his mouth as though he is about to say something but then closes it as though not sure of himself.

"I can handle it, Charlie," I assure him. I'm shaking on the inside however. Was it really that bad?

"Okay, well," he begins slowly, "we found the cockpit and we went inside. I won't give you details, but there were bodies everywhere. Kate and Jack looked around for the transceiver thing while I went into the loo and got sick. When I was feeling better, I came out and saw that Jack and Kate were talking with the pilot. He was telling them how we flew off course and that rescue is looking for us in all the wrong places. He gave us the transceiver, then we came back here." He gives me a small smile as he finishes and then quickly looks away.

He changes the subject all of a sudden back to Driveshaft. But I can't hear what he's saying; the _whispers_ have started again. They're everywhere, above me, below me, encircling me. I shut my eyes and try to block out the noise, but it doesn't help. I try to focus on breathing, to concentrate on anything else, but it's not doing any good. I open my eyes again, and just as I begin to focus on the world around me, I hear that voice again. The voice that told me to go back to Sawyer. Only this time he is saying something different. Something I hear distinctly. _"He is lying."_ And with those words, the whispers die off.

I look back at Charlie, and he is still chatting away about Driveshaft, as though nothing had happened.

That voice. It was the same voice. Is it's owner watching me? How does it know what I am doing? I remembered what it sounds like this time. It's a man. Definitely a man. He has a grainy voice. It's deep too. But it's not a scary voice. I don't know what to make of it.

I try to focus my thoughts. What was it that He said? _"He is lying."_ Did He mean Charlie? Is Charlie lying to me about what really happened out there? He _did_ seem rather eager to change the subject. But at the same time, he seems like a nice enough guy. Would he really lie to me?

I decide to call him on it. Worst case scenario: I'm wrong. And besides, last time I listened to His voice, everything turned out okay. Maybe He'll be right again.

"Wait," I say to Charlie. He stops mid-sentence and looks at me. "You said that the pilot gave you the transceiver and told you that we were off course?"

"Yeah," he responds.

Here it comes. Moment of truth…

"So where is the pilot?" I ask. I don't sound accusing, but rather overly curious.

He pauses for a moment and just stares at me as though contemplating how to respond. I cut in before he can say anything. "Why did you lie, Charlie? What happened to the pilot?"

"Look," he says, looking me in the eyes. "I didn't want to freak you out. _I'm_ not even sure what happened out there." He pauses again, trying to collect his thoughts. "When we were with the pilot… that _thing_ came. It tore down the trees. Shook the jungles. I ran out of there as fast as I could. We all got separated. I thought I was done for, you know? But then I ran into Kate and we went looking for Jack. The thing had gone by then. We found Jack… but the pilot didn't make it."

"What do you mean?" I ask, although I think I understand perfectly.

"We found the pilot's body in the branches of a tree. It was weird. We didn't know what to do. We left after that. We decided not to tell anyone what happened." He is finished with his story, and although he doesn't say it, I understand everything.

That thing - that… _monster_ - killed the pilot.

We don't say anything more to each other, and within a few minutes the rain suddenly stops, just as before. I decide to leave Charlie for the time being, to mull over what I've just heard. He doesn't follow me. As I look back over my shoulder, I see him walking over to where Claire is seated. He takes a seat next to her and they both smile. Charlie's is more pronounced than Claire's, but she _does_ smile nonetheless.

I walk over to where a campfire was once lit. It has long since gone out and most of the ash has washed away. I don't mind. It's warm enough on this island without a campfire. I guess it was mostly used as a signal, to catch the eye of passing planes or the rescue team.

Fat chance of us being rescued now, I suppose. Not only are we a thousand miles off course, but according to that French transmission, nobody even knows where this island is. If the French lady hasn't been rescued for 16 years, then what makes us think that we have any better chances of getting home?

I mean, I know I like this place, but I never considered that getting back to Oxford (or anywhere else for that matter) to be an impossibility. What if I never see Donovan again? What if I never walk around the University's campus again? What if I never eat in a resturaunt again? Or go see a movie? Or even just relax with a cup of warm tea?

I try to push these thoughts out of my head and focus on the one main problem: survival. I'm never gonna get to know if I'll do those things again unless we can all survive on this island long enough to find out.

It's not just about finding food and water, building shelters, or constructing signal fires. It's about the polar bears, the monster, and whatever else is out there. We don't know what this island is, how big it is, or what lives here. We just know that we have to take this one day at a time and not fight amongst ourselves over trivial things because, even though most of us don't know it, we already have to fight to stay alive against all these mysteries.

It's just beginning to get dark, and I don't like thinking about having to defend myself against the unknown while I'm sitting here by myself. I take a deep breath to calm myself down. No worries. Everything will be fine. We'll work together and get through this. No big deal.

I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel someone suddenly sit down next to me. I snap my head around really quick, but I see that it's only Hurley. I sigh a breath of relief, even though my heart is pounding a million miles a minute.

"Dude, can I just sit here with you for awhile? Until I, you know, calm down?" He seems almost as shaken as I am.

"Of course, Hurley," I say. "Why? What's going on?"

"Well, cos I was just over with Jack," he explains, "and I've been seeing some pretty grim things today."

_Tell me about it, _I think. "Like what?" I coax.

"I mean, like, there was this U.S. Marshall on the plane," he says, "and he had, like, this giant piece of metal lodged in his stomach. And Jack had to pull it out, but now it doesn't look like that guy's gonna make it. I mean, Jack says he's gonna try and fix him, but I don't know, dude."

My heart drops at the thought of death. I've never been comfortable with the idea of people dying, and given the experience with death in my life, I'm not too happy knowing that this U.S. Marshall isn't too long for this world.

My hand reaches for the cross around my neck and the coolness of the silver on my hand comforts me. I give a silent prayer asking God to do whatever he can for this guy. Somehow, please save him. Let him make it out of this alive. Help Jack to fix him so he can live to explore this island like the rest of us. Don't take him yet.

I let my necklace drop back to my chest as I turn to Hurley, desperate to change the subject. I figure I'll make small talk about the something pointless, like this weird weather (I know, original, right?), but before I can even open my mouth, Hurley is already saying something else.

"Hey, did you know Kate is a fugitive?"

"What?!"

"I'm sorry," he quickly says. "But I _had_ to tell _someone_. It's been, like, eating me alive!"

"Okay, just slow down," I say, trying to calm him and myself down. "What are you talking about? Start from the beginning."

He looks around quickly, then says, "The U.S. Marshall, like, had a picture of her, and he told Jack that she's dangerous. I saw the picture. It's ligit, man."

"Wow," is all I can bring myself to say.

"But you can't tell anyone. It'll freak everyone out… And then she might shoot us," he adds.

"She won't shoot us, Hurley," I say calmly.

"Yeah, but she might! She's got a gun!"

"I know. Hurley, it's okay. Don't worry." I'm surprisingly okay with all of this.

"Dude, you know?" he sounds dumbfounded.

"Yeah," I say. "When we went on the hike, we found out that Sawyer had taken a gun off the Marshall. We gave it to Kate. We figured it was safest with her."

"Oh, great," Hurley remarks sarcastically. "Good job. Give the gun to the fugitive."

"We didn't know she was a fugitive at the time," I explain. "And besides, who would you rather have the dangerous weapon? Kate or Sawyer?"

"I guess you're right, dude," he admits.

"Yeah," I console. "No worries."

"No worries," he repeats, smiling at me. After a pause of silence he says, "Okay. I better get back to Jack. See ya later, Lenny."

"Bye, Hurley!" A thought comes into my head. "Hey, Hurley?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell anyone else what you told me, okay?"

"Sure, dude!" he says as he turns his back and walks away. I hope he keeps his word.

Author's Note: Okay, so it's totally not my favorite chapter, but I needed a way for Lenny to find out about Kate's fugitivness. Next chapter will be better, promise. And what the heck is going on on Lost?? Time-travel, Widmore's an Other, Charlotte might die, and Desmond's son's name is Charlie!! I LOVE the writers. Pure genius!

**Please review and let me know how I'm doing. Constructive criticism is always welcomed! And if you're not going to review, then PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE visit my profile page and vote for your favorite Lost character in my poll. Thanks to all my reviewers! Bye-bye!!**


	7. The Marshall

**Disclaimer: I do not own LOST. Grr!**

**Author's Note: Okay, when you are done reading this, you need to do two things… okay, three things. 1. Review. 2. Visit my profile and vote for your favorite LOST character (no one has voted yet. Come on, guys!). 3. Watch LOST tomorrow. Okay, that's all. Enjoy!**

I sit there for another two minutes before deciding to get up. I can't sit there alone anymore. I know I'll end up driving myself crazy if I keep thinking about all the ridiculously insane things that I've learned in the past two days. I need a distraction.

I walk around camp for a while. I would love to strike up a conversation with someone, but everyone I pass looks like they don't want to be bothered. I look around for any familiar faces, but when I do see someone I know, I decide against approaching them: Charlie is having a conversation with Claire, Sayid looks like he's busy tampering with the transceiver, Shannon and Boone are arguing with each other, Lock is… approachable, but I'm still not so sure about him yet, and Sawyer is nowhere to be found.

My eyes scan around the beach, looking at the faces of all the 47 survivors (48 if you count me). I finally see a boy sitting by himself looking at something on the ground. I recognize him as the black guy's son. I'd seen him yesterday morning when Charlie decided to go find the cockpit with Jack. He was the boy who corrected Hurley's spelling of "bodys".

I walk over to him, and as I get closer I can see that he's young, probably around 10. He looks sort of closed off, like he's not really too concerned with the people around him or the crash. I guess I can kind of relate.

As I reach his sitting place, I can see that he's poured over a backgammon game board. He looks up at me.

"Hey," I say, being friendly. "You play backgammon?"

"Sort of," he replies. He looks at the game board then back at me. "I just learned how to play today."

"Oh, yeah?" I say, sitting opposite him in front of the board. "Your dad teach you?"

"No. Mr. Locke did," he says, rolling the dice through his fingers. "He's the guy with the bald head."

"I've met Mr. Locke," I say. "So, do you want to play?"

"Sure," he says, a spark in his voice.

He hands me the dice and we begin to play. I go easy on him at first since he just learned. I have the opportunity to jump one of his blots, but I let it slide by. He doesn't let me off so easily, however. Ten minutes into the game, he's jumped two of my blots. He's better at this than I thought. I grab the dice, ready to roll so I can land on one of his blots, but I hear a noise, and my hand freezes.

It's coming from the makeshift infirmary that Jack has set up. The place where the U.S. Marshall is. Moans of pain. Of agony. I can sense a stillness move throughout the camp. No one knows what to do or what to say. I look at the boy, and we hold each other's gaze for a few seconds. Neither of us knows what to do.

I put the dice down, not caring much about the game anymore. He must have the same feeling, because he puts away the pieces and closes the board. A few minutes of silence pass between us. We move our fingers through the sand, giving us something to do. The moaning continues on.

I remember what Hurley said. About how the Marshall would be dead soon. A shudder creeps through my body, and I fight back tears.

"What's your name?" the boy asks, looking for a distraction from the grim sound.

"Lenny," I say quietly. "What's yours?"

"Walt."

It's quiet again between us. All we can hear is the Marshall.

I look around for something - anything - to talk about. But as I do, I see Walt's dad walking quickly over to us.

"Walt, buddy, come on," he says when he reaches us. "Let's find something to eat." He wants to protect his son from the horrible reality of what's happening around him.

Walt doesn't move. He looks up at his father and says, "Did you find Vincent?"

His father looks taken aback for half a second before saying, "Not yet. But I'll find him. Don't worry."

Walt gives a kind of half-sigh before standing up. He looks back at me and asks, "Can we play again later?"

"Of course," I reply, smiling.

He gives a half smile before walking away with his dad.

The smile drops from my face almost immediately. The moans, the agony, and the horror of what is happening to this man permeates throughout the camp. Almost everyone is quiet. We are all listening to this guy slowly and painfully die. It reminds me of my brother. Except with him, no one was around when it happened. He died alone.

I can feel tears creeping up into my eyes, threatening to overflow and stain my cheeks. I consider letting them fall, to just succumb to my emotions and let three years of grief spill itself out into the sand, but I decide against it. Instead, I wrack my brain trying to think of a song I can hum to drown out his screams. Anything to make it stop.

The first song that comes to me is "Return to Pooh Corner" and I don't hesitate to let the melody vibrate through my lips. I close my eyes and concentrate on the tune, but I'm not even halfway through the first chorus when the Marshall's cries break into my thoughts. I start from the beginning of the song, this time quietly singing it out loud

"_Christopher Robin and I walked along, under branches lit up by the moon."_ His moans edge their way back into my thoughts, so I sing louder. _"Posing our questions to Owl and Eeyore, as our days disappeared all too soon."_ I'm outright singing now, and I don't care. Anything to distract me. _"But I wandered much further today than I should, and I can't seem to find my way back to the Wood." _I begin to relax. I feel better. I can't hear him anymore. _"So help me if you can, I've got to get back to the house at Pooh Corner by one. You'd be surprised, there's so much to be done. Count all the bees in the hive, chase all the clouds from the sky. Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh. Winnie the Pooh doesn't know what to do, got a honey jar -."_

"Well, ain't that just too damn sweet."

Sawyer. What a surprise.

I look up at him and notice that night has drastically begun to settle itself in around us. I can barely see his features in the gathering darkness. Although of one thing I am absolutely certain: he's smirking that stupid little smirk of his. I just want to reach up and rip it off his face, but I can't. Now that I'm not singing anymore I can clearly hear the Marshall, crying out in agony. It sends a chill through my body.

"Never took you for the singing type, Goldilocks," he says to me. He plops himself down in the sand and looks at me, waiting for a reaction.

"Please don't call me Goldilocks," I say half-heartedly.

I pick up some sand and slowly let it fall through my fingers. I'm not in the mood to argue with him. I have no energy for it. The sand is cold to the touch, and as the last few specks drain through the cracks in my fingers, I pick up some more and repeat the process.

"Well, sheesh. I was just tryin' to lighten the mood, Sassafras," he says in that Southern accent.

I don't respond. I can't. He doesn't understand how horribly I feel about everything. I just want the Marshall to be okay. I can't stand the screams anymore. It scares me.

My eyes flood with tears again, and the world blurs. _No,_ I think to myself. _Don't cry now. Not in front of Sawyer! Hold it back. Just hold it back. Everything will be fine. It'll all be okay. Just hold it back._

A single tear slides down my cheek and drops into the sand. I hope beyond all hope that Sawyer doesn't notice. _Please don't let him have seen._

I chance a glance up at him, but he's looking off in the direction of the infirmary. Just staring off. I wonder if he's feeling the same way I am.

I decide to break the silence between us.

"So, is that the Marshall?" I ask. "The guy you took the gun from?"

"Yeah," he says, breaking his gaze to glance at the sand and then at me. He pauses for a moment before saying, "It's all just as well that Kate has it now."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"What I mean is that this poor sucker ain't gonna live too much longer and every damn person here knows it. So why not just do him a favor?"

"You mean kill him?" I'm not as angry as I thought I'd be. Oh, I am angry, don't get me wrong, but I guess part of it makes sense.

"Yeah, I ain't none too thrilled with the idea either," Sawyer admits soberly. "But he deserves to be put out of his misery. He doesn't deserve this."

I'm surprised at Sawyer's sudden spark of humanity. It makes me feel better about this whole situation. He's right. As much as I want the Marshall to live and to have everything be okay, I can't lie to myself. This guy is _not_ going to make it. He's just going to slowly suffer until his body gives out. That's no way to live. He shouldn't have to go through that. He should be able to move on to Heaven and be happy. It's the best thing for him.

I feel Sawyer stand up and begin to walk off.

"Where are you going?" I ask before he's out of earshot.

"To talk some sense into Kate," is his only reply before he heads in the direction of the infirmary.

I sit in the steady darkness on the beach, hugging my knees to my chest. My heart is pounding. Could he really do it? Could he convince Kate to kill the Marshall? If what Hurley said was true, about Kate being a fugitive, then wouldn't she have no problem killing the guy who was going to put her in prison? Would it be that easy for her? I try to convince myself that this is what the Marshall needs. He might even welcome it.

I shake my head in frustration at all these conflicting emotions. What is the right thing to do? My heart beats faster - threatening to break my ribcage - as my senses focus on hearing the moans, shrieks, and screams of the Marshall. I know he doesn't deserve this. _No one_ deserves this. It's too much for him. It's too much for me. I can't sit here anymore. I need to move.

I stand up, my legs wobbly, my hands shaking. I look for anyone I know amongst the campfires on the beach, needing a distraction, someone to talk to. I walk through the crowd, finally catching Walt's eye as he eats by the fireside. His dad is beside him.

Walt smiles at me as I walk over and take a seat beside him. We are quiet for a while. I gaze into the fire, hypnotized and entranced by the dancing flames. For a moment, I forget about the Marshall. I forget about the polar bears, the French lady. I forget about losing Desmond's cross and crashing on this island. I forget about Oceanic 815 all together. I forget about Oxford and living with Donovan. I forget about losing Desmond and attending his funeral. I forget about everything. I just exist. I just… am.

"Do you want some food?" Walt's voice knocks me back into reality, and I let all my frustrations out in a single deep breath.

"I'm sorry," I apologize. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'Do you want some food?'," he politely explains. He shows me the little bit of food he has in his lap. Remnants of an in-flight meal.

"Sure," I reply. "Do you mind if I have the cake?" I recognize some of the pound cake that Charlie ate from my meal on the night of the crash.

He looks down at the cake, then back up at me. "Can we share it?" he asks.

Of course he wants the cake. He's a 10-year-old kid. What 10-year-old kid _doesn't_ want cake?

"Deal."

I take the stale cube of cake and break it in half, giving him the slightly larger piece. He takes it hungrily and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. I watch in amusement as he tries desperately to chew, but can't due to a full mouth. A smile breaks across my face as I watch the spectacle.

He looks up at me, and in that instant, we both burst out laughing. Well, _I_ laugh at least. He makes a kind of muffled cackle sound that I understand to be laughter.

After a minute or so of this, we both finally calm down and he swallows his cake. We end up splitting the chicken and ignoring the salad all together. Walt's dad, whose name I learn is Michael, polishes off the wilty lettuce. I realize this is the closest thing I've had to a family dinner in years.

_Bang._

It's as simple as that.

One noise is enough to rock the camp. Every person falls silent and their eyes gaze off in the direction of the infirmary - of where the Marshall is. Or, rather, where the Marshall used to be. It happens so fast.

Slowly, hurried and concerned chatter breaks out.

"What was that?"

"Was that a gun?"

"Do you think he's okay?"

"Who did it?"

And then _whispers_, all around me. Just as before. I know what's next. I anticipate His voice.

"_Sawyer missed. He's not dead."_

Then, nothing. No whispers, no voice.

I know His words are true, and I know that there is nothing I can do to change what's happened. The Marshall was shot, but he still lives. I stare back into the flames, longing to forget.

Then I hear it. Coughing, sputtering, choking, wheezing. The Marshall is still alive, just as He said. Sawyer missed.

_Sawyer_ missed, not Kate. Sawyer fired the gun, and Sawyer missed.

The camp's chatter continues in a terrified uproar. They're scared. They know there's a gun and, and they're scared. I feel Michael stand up furiously, demanding information from the closest person, who happens to be Sayid. Sayid is calm, although I can see he has questions of his own.

I quietly slip away from a distracted Walt. No amount of worrying will do any good. What's done is done. I'm tired. I know Sawyer will find a way to sneak back into camp undetected so as to avoid any questions. I head for the wing of the plane where I know he will soon join me.

As I lay down and shut my eyes, I hear silence fall over the infirmary. No more wheezing. _Jack_, I think to myself. _Jack has put him out of his misery._

"_Jack_," He confirms. No whispers this time. Just Him. _"The Marshall is gone."_

His voice slips away, and with a deep sigh, so does consciousness.

**Author's Note: Okay, guys. You know what to do! Review, vote, watch LOST. Then repeat. Well, okay, maybe not repeat. But you get the idea. Ready? GO!**


	8. Meet Ethan Rom

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. If I did, Charlotte wouldn't have died last week!**

**Author's Note: Okay, please bear with me on this chapter. This definitely isn't my favorite chapter, I'll tell you that. It's not particularly good, and it's poorly written. But the next one will be so much better! I promise! Enjoy!**

I wake up the next morning (or rather afternoon) alone. No Sawyer. Not that I really expected him to still be sitting here; it's the middle of the day for Pete's sake.

I stand up, shaking out my cramped legs. Looking 'round the camp, I see that people are generally in a better mood than last night. I assume Jack told them what happened with the Marshall. It's nice to see people getting along; not like last night. Last night, people were scared.

I finally spot Sawyer sitting on some wreckage, fiddling with his pack of cigarettes. His eyes look downcast and sullen, and he doesn't move with the same ruggedness that I'm used to. I make my way over and take a seat next to him. He doesn't even look up at me. I start to count in my head; I reach 42 before he finally speaks.

"You want something?"

"Not particularly," I reply.

I start the count over again. This time I only get to 23 when I decide to break the silence with a little encouragement.

"You didn't mean for it to happen. It's not your fault."

He says nothing to this. I try again.

"You did what you knew was right. It's okay to feel bad."

Silence.

"You're thinking way too much about this. Come on, Sawyer, don't be like this. What's done is done. As horrible as the notion was, it was the best thing for him. What was the point in letting him suffer?"

My question is met with no response.

I cease trying to start a conversation with him - if he wants to be sullen, let him be sullen - and gaze off at the people around me. Hurley is sitting on some wreckage listening to a CD and emptying the mountains of sand from his shoes. Boone walks over to Shannon and hands her a pair of sunglasses; she smiles. A Korean man kneels beside his sleeping wife and lightly brushes the hair from her eyes. Sayid walks by, tossing an apple in the air.

Unexpectedly, as Sayid passes, he tosses the apple to Sawyer, and continues to walk on by.

Sawyer looks at the apple for a few moments, the pain on his face clear. I want to say something that will relieve him of his burden, but I don't have the words. My heart goes out to him. Slowly, he looks at me and hands me the apple. It's his subtle way of reaching out for a friend. I take it and give him a slight smile, my subtle way of being here for him. This small exchange passes, and he looks away. I take a bite and feel a warmth grow inside of me that has nothing to do with the apple.

Sawyer is special to me. He's like a childhood security blanket that's been stored in the attic for years, and now that I've taken it out, it's like having an old friend back. Sawyer is my security blanket, my friend. I hate to admit it to myself, but Sawyer reminds me of my brother; except for the part where he - Sawyer - is an ass.

I look back out at the camp. Everyone seems decently content. One couple is sorting through luggage, Walt is playing fetch with a yellow Labrador, and a round-faced man is struggling to pull a long piece of wreckage through the sand. With one final glance at Sawyer, I stand up and run over to help the man.

"Wait. Hold on," I say, picking up the other end of the wreckage. It's a steel I-beam that's pretty intact considering we fell 30,000 feet out of the sky.

"Thanks," he says, smiling. "Thanks a lot."

His face is slightly chubby, and his short grey-brown hair is flattened to his head. His eyes look tired, and judging from the wrinkles in his forehead, I would say that he is in his early 40s.

We carry the beam further down the beach to a pile of bamboo, a blue tarp and a slightly smaller I-beam.

"Okay, set it down," he says.

"What's all this for?" I ask, placing my end of the wreckage on the ground.

"Oh, I'm gonna build a shelter," he states. "Some other people are starting as well, incase it rains again today."

"Makes sense," I say. I look at him for a moment, then introduce myself, "I'm Lenny Hume."

"Ethan Rom," he says, shaking my hand, smiling. It's contagious; I smile too.

"You want some help, Ethan? I'm not busy."

"Great, thanks."

Ethan takes the lead with the construction, and I help in any way I can. Within half an hour we have built a decent frame, slightly lop-sided, but decent nonetheless. We take a break, and he hands me a bottle of Oceanic water.

"Not bad for my first time building a shelter, huh?" he asks, amusement apparent in his voice.

"What, you've never been stranded on a deserted island before?"

"Funny," he chuckles.

I laugh too. It feels good. I've missed laughing.

"So," Ethan begins, making conversation, "what were you doing in Australia, Lenny?" He sits in the sand, inviting me to take a seat next to him. I do.

"My friend Donovan was doing some research…" I begin, unsure of how much to tell him. Before I can really decide whether or not to share with him about my life, everything starts spilling out. "I was leaving Sydney early to visit my brother's grave in L.A. Last week was the 3 year anniversary of his death."

"I'm sorry," he says sincerely, if not a little taken off guard. "That must've been hard on you and your parents."

"No. My parents are dead as well." Where is all of this coming from? "I live in England with Donovan."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to bring this up." I can hear the embarrassment in his voice.

"No, it's okay. You didn't know…." Oh gosh, I can feel it. It's all about to come out. "He was the coolest brother. He was like 25 years older than me, so he had already moved to England before I was born. But he always found time to call and see how I was doing. I looked forward to his calls so much. Then when my parents died, he moved back to America to take care of me. 8 months later, he died too. That's how I came to live in England with his best friend Donovan. He's been a big help."

"Wow," he says, after I've finished spewing out my life story to a man I've known for less than an hour. "I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"It's okay."

I take a sip of water and stare out at the crashing waves. Still no sign of rescue. Good.

"My wife," he begins slowly, "died in child birth… and our baby didn't make it either."

I stare at him, grief welling up inside me. He's a good guy. I'm sorry for his loss.

"I know all too well what you're going through," he says. "So if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

"Thanks."

"Shall we get back to work?" he asks, changing the subject.

"Alright."

We work for another 15 minutes trying to secure the tarp down - which is a lot harder than it sounds. When we finally finish, Ethan steps back to admire the craftsmanship.

"Home sweet home," he says, smiling. "Thanks. This easily would've taken me all day."

"No problem." I give a friendly smile back. "Hey, do you mind if I take the spare bamboo?" An idea had been forming in my head as we were working on his shelter, and now I think it's time to put it into action.

"All yours."

"Thanks. I've gotta go. I'll see you around."

"See ya," he says, as I make my way back up the beach.

Fortunately enough, I find Sawyer in the same place I left him an hour ago.

"Get up," I demand, standing in front of him.

"What?" He looks annoyed. Great, he's already a step closer to being good-ol'-jackass Sawyer again.

"Get up. We're going to build a shelter."

"Says who?" I can hear the snarkiness creeping back into his voice. I'm glad.

"Says me. Now get up off your ass and come help me build a shelter."

"No." Short, sweet, and to the point.

"Fine, get rained on in the middle of the night. See if I care."

"Okay, I will!"

I feign a look of indifference, turn around and walk away. My plan will work soon; I can feel it.

I grab Ethan's leftover bamboo and find a clear patch of land for my shelter. It takes some time - roughly an hour- but I manage to make a smaller, less complex version of Ethan's frame. Now all I need is…

"Here." Sawyer is suddenly behind me, handing me a piece of blue tarp for the roof. Perfect!

"Finally decided to join me?" I ask.

"Nope. Just came to give you the tarp and a friendly reminder to stop trying to con a con man. I know all the tricks, darlin'. You can't win."

"Really?" I ask, smugness emanating from me. "Because I think I just did." His eyes narrow in quiet confusion.

"Come again?" he asks in the Southern accent.

"Well, you're not moping around anymore, are you? That means I win." I stick out my tongue in a child-like manner to further aggravate him. This is fun.

"That was your whole plan? To get me to stop feeling sorry for myself?"

"Pretty much." I smile.

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble, Sassafras," he states, his voice dripping with smug, "but the two smokes I just had helped me with that little problem, not you. So that means _I_ win." He tilts his head toward me in victory and walks away.

The smile drops from my face. He just _has_ to be an ass, doesn't he? Can't have any fun once in a while, can he? Let him build his own shelter. I hope it falls apart in the process.

I secure the tarp down and take a step back to view my new humble abode. Not bad for building it by myself. It's not a five-star hotel to be sure, but it's not falling apart at the seams either. It's perfect.

"Lenny!"

I turn to see Jack hurrying toward me, a mix of shock and concern on his face.

"Hey, Jack. What's going on?"

"What're you doing?" He sounds slightly agitated. "I though I told you not to use your arm."

"My arm is just fine, Jack. Look." I show him the faint scar where the metal had been embedded into my flesh just three days prior. The jagged white line is the only remaining evidence that such an event even occurred.

"May I?" he asks, indicating my arm. I nod.

He takes my arm, inspecting the skin, scrutinizing the raised line. He runs his warm fingers down the length of my arm before looking up at me expectantly.

"I guess I'm just a fast healer." What else am I supposed to say? I can't tell him I think it's the island that healed my arm. He'd think I'm crazy. Something tells me he wouldn't be as open to the idea as Locke.

"What about the bones? Your arm was broken in the crash. You shouldn't have been able to build this shelter like this by yourself."

He releases my arm from his hold, and I demonstrate its normality. I move it up and down, side to side, back and forth. I twist and untwist it. "I told you before that it was fine."

He looks at me in disbelief, as if he thinks I'm lying. But the evidence is staring him right in the face. I don't know what to tell him.

"Alright, well, let me know if it starts to hurt again," he says as he turns to leave.

"Sure. No problem." But there's no doubt in my mind that everything will be fine. I know the island healed my arm.

I turn back to my shelter, surveying it. It looks empty, with nothing to set it apart from anyone else's. I should try to find my luggage and put it here. I wouldn't put it past Sawyer to move all his stuff in and claim it as his own. I'd better work fast before he gets any ideas.

I head over to a group of people sorting through different bags, searching for nametags so they could identify their owners. Claire is one of these people. I make my way toward her and kneel down in the sand.

"Hey, Claire, you haven't seen my bag, have you?"

"What did it look like?" she asks, turning her attention toward me.

"Probably like every other piece of luggage here," I say, gazing at the field of suitcases. "But it had my name in it."

"Lenny, right?" she asks. "I think I remember seeing it earlier. It might be in that pile over there." She points to a pile of unclaimed bags.

"Thanks," I say, standing up.

I rummage through the mound, digging through satchels and cases, finding every name from James Ford to Sun Kwon. Finally, I find my bag. It's the one buried at the very bottom of the pile. Trying to pull it out should be loads of fun.

I grab the handle and heave, and just as I suspect my suitcase doesn't budge. I wipe the sweat from my hands and try again. This time, half-way through yanking at the bag, my hands slip and I stumble backward, falling to the ground. Perfect.

"Want a hand?"

I look up to see a bald-headed Locke standing over me. He offers me his hand and pulls me into a standing position.

"Please."

Within a matter of seconds, he wrenches my bag free of the mound.

"There you go," he says, still smiling. He looks at me in that knowing way, like we're exchanging an inside joke. His gaze makes me feel uncomfortable, and I have the sudden urge to be far away from here.

"Well, thanks," I say timidly, taking my bag and heading back to my tent. I feel his eyes on me the entire time I walk. It's unnerving.

When I finally get back to my tent, I can breathe easily again, and as I turn back to see where Locke is, he is nowhere to be seen. A silent shudder courses through me.

Fortunately enough, Sawyer has not staked claims to my tent, and I can move my stuff into my new home in peace. There's nothing to unpack. All that I have with me is a week's worth of clothes, some bathroom items and a deck of cards. Everything can stay in my bag for now. I have no use for any of it yet.

The rest of the day passes by uneventfully. Walt and I finish our game of backgammon as well as starting and ultimately finishing two more games. He beats me two out of three. I make a mental note to practice so I can give him a run for his money the next time we play. He's a good kid.

As it nears dusk, Charlie joins me by the fire, accompanied by dinner - yet another in-flight meal. Driveshaft comes up in conversation again; he tells me that since we've crashed, he's composed a new song in his head. Unfortunately, without his guitar, he has no means of hearing how it sounds. I know how it feels to lose something important to you, I tell him (absentmindedly, I fiddle with the silver cross around my neck). I encourage him not to lose hope.

I retire early tonight, exhausted from single-handedly building my tent. I climb under a blanket I pulled from the wreckage and lay my head on a dirty pillow. The last thought that flows though my mind before I succumb to weariness is that this could be where I spend the rest of my life. This is home. I am home.

And it feels like everything is right with the world.

**Author's Note: Okay, yes, I know this chapter wasn't as good as it could have been. But I just needed to introduce Lenny to Ethan and have them start to form a slight friendship. Please stick with this story. The next chapter will be better. Oh, and don't forget to vote for you favorite Lost characters in the poll on my profile! So far, Daniel and Charlotte are in the lead. Show your favorite characters some love by voting!! And don't forget to watch Lost tomorrow!! Bye-bye!**


	9. Boars, Boars and More Boars

**Disclaimer: I do not own LOST. If I did, Ben would not have killed Locke last week! (What was up with that??)**

**Author's Note: Okay, so I know it's been two weeks since my last update, but because the site had been down for three days I didn't want to post this chapter as everyone else was frenzying to put up their stories as well. So I figured I'd wait a week. Thanks for your patience. Enjoy!**

I am half awake and half asleep, that much is certain. But which half of me is hearing those whispers that are always just out of reach? So loud, yet so silent they are. All around me, enclosing me, enveloping me, drowning me. I can't breathe. I'm suffocating!

"_Wake up."_

My eyes snap open, and I am suddenly aware of my surroundings. I'm in my tent, and all is quiet. No whispers. _His_ voice, however, still rings in my ears, influencing me to wake up. My heart pounds. Who is He? He must be watching me! I need to find him, to talk to him.

I quickly scramble out of my tent to see that it's dark, the moon still high in the sky. My eyes gaze around the sleeping camp, intent on any sign of movement. I am determined to find out who this man is. Is He watching me now? How does He know who I am? Where is He? After a few minutes, I reluctantly give up my search. It's too dark to see anything. He could be standing at the treeline staring at me, and I would never know it.

I take a deep breath of the fresh, cool night air and turn back to my tent to resume my sleep. Before I can crawl inside, however, I hear barking among the camp. I glance over to see Walt's dog, Vincent, trying to pull free of Walt's grip on the leash.

"Walt, you gotta keep that dog quiet," Michael tells his son, sitting up.

"I don't know what's wrong with him," Walt explains. He practically has to scream over the dog's barks. "Come on, Vincent. Cut that out!"

Slowly, everyone begins to stir, drowsy and confused, waking up and looking around them. That's when we hear the growling coming from the plane. Everyone's attention is immediately diverted to the fuselage - where all of the bodies are. We can hear glass breaking, and the sound of metal hitting metal as various items crash to the cabin floor. The entire camp is now on their feet, completely absorbed in the ruckus. Walt is still attempting to settle Vincent.

Someone or some_thing_ is in the plane.

Unexpectedly, I feel someone come up behind me, and I jump as I feel their hand on my shoulder. I gasp as I whip around, only to see that it is Ethan. Relief floods through me.

"Sorry," he apologizes, seeing the frightened look on my face.

"It's okay," I smile. _Crash!_ More items fall within the fuselage. "What is it?" I ask, knowing he won't have the answer.

"I don't know," he says, staring at the hole in the plane. It's too dark to make out any kind of shapes, but something is definitely moving in there. "Come on." He moves off to join the rest of the camp huddled in front of the plane, and I follow.

"What is it?" Kate poses the question to no one in particular. Everyone is standing in a giant clump, hovering just in front of the massive fuselage.

"Somebody's in there," Claire responds from beside me, her voice shaking.

"Everybody in there is dead," counters Sayid from behind us.

A chill creeps up my spine. Then what _is_ in there? A polar bear?

"Sawyer," deduces Jack matter-of-factly

"Right behind ya, jackass," says Sawyer in disgust.

Jack ignores the comment and pulls out a small flashlight from within his shirt pocket. He turns it on as he cautiously approaches the plane. Sawyer is right on his heels, holding a much more powerful flashlight. They, along with Kate and Charlie, inch closer. Ethan and I follow, equally as curious as the four of them.

20 feet away. Ten feet. Five. We are right at the mouth of Oceanic 815, waiting with bated breath. Jack shines his weak light into the fuselage, and if I squint, I can just make out a breathing mound of matted hair. Whatever it is, it's rooting through one of the beverage carts, completely unaware of our presence.

"I'm gonna shed some light on this thing," announces Sawyer as he shines his massive light directly onto the animal.

Jack quickly knocks away Sawyer's arm, but not before the beast has caught sight of the beam. In one fluid movement, the creature turns around and charges straight toward us.

"Run!" Jack shouts.

I hear the grunting of the beast behind me as I flee in the opposite direction. Blood pounds in my ears as I attempt to outrun the animal, avoid colliding with other people and find a safe place to hide. Pandemonium breaks out; people scream and shout, diving under any kind of wreckage to protect themselves, making sure their loved ones are safe, fleeing in every direction.

There is nowhere to hide, nowhere to protect myself. I'm the easiest target for the animals; the slowest, the weakest of the group. I can feel the exhaust in my legs; I'm tiring. But I'm still out in the open. If I stop now, it'll pick me off first. I gotta keep moving.

Without warning, I feel someone grab me by the arm and drag me behind a giant piece of debris. They put themselves in front of me, shielding me from danger. I look up at my defender, only to be shocked to see a rugged-looking Sawyer still gripping my arm protectively. I breathe out a sight of relief. I am safe.

I survey the scene before me. Almost everyone has found some means of protection from the beasts, and my racing heart begins to slow. That's when I see Charlie being pursued by _three_ animals. He glances behind him at his attackers, and I can see the terror in his eyes as the gap closes between him and the quadrupeds. And as horror floods through him, he loses his focus, stumbles and falls.

He's close enough that I know I can reach him, and without thinking, I start forward, determined to get to him before the brown-haired creatures do. Sawyer pulls me back however, and refuses to relinquish his hold on me. Thank goodness Jack jumps in and pulls Charlie to his feet in time. The animals keep running, past Sawyer and I, past Charlie and Jack, into the treeline and away from camp.

"They've gone," Sayid announces, and everyone scrambles out of their hiding places.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Charlie asks.

"Boars." I look over to see Locke half-smiling. He's got this look of ravenous longing in his eyes, and I find myself looking away from him.

The grip Sawyer has on my arm disappears. I look up at him, wanting to say something, but he beats me to it.

"You alright, Sassafras?"

"I'm good, yeah," I say, panting. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he says in that Southern accent. I could be mistaken, but I think I see the ghost of a smile flicker across his face. I smile back, and he walks away.

Slowly, everyone starts to trickle back to his or her various tents and sleeping places. I, on the other hand, am wide-awake. I walk around camp, trying to calm my nerves, until I run into Charlie.

"You okay, Charlie?" I ask. "You scared the crap outta me back there."

"_You_?" he asks incredulously. "I thought I was done for! Never had three _boars_ chasing me before."

I give a small chuckle, and he smiles back. That's when the wet stain on the side of his shirt catches my eye.

"Are you bleeding?" I ask, concerned.

He follows my gaze to his shirt and pulls back the fabric to expose the oozing scrape.

"Oh, bollocks!" he exclaims.

"Come on," I say, leading him toward Jack's tent. "You need to see Jack. That could get infected out here."

As we walk into Jack's tent, I hear three distinct voices discussing what to do about the boars in quiet whispers, and as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see Jack, Kate and Sayid straighten up and cease all conversation at the sight of us. Charlie shows Jack his wound, and Jack - being the heroic doctor he is - quickly begins to take out various medical supplies from within his luggage bag. Before he dresses the rockstar's injury, he looks at me.

"Lenny, I'll take care of him. You should get some sleep."

"I'm not tired," I respond honestly. Who could be tired after a boar attack?

Jack doesn't push the subject and continues to tend to Charlie's injury. After a few moments, he addresses the group. "Those boars were looking to feed. We have to get rid of the bodies."

"Burry them?" Charlie pipes up. "There's a whole bunch in there."

"More than 20," Sayid chimes in. "Digging will be difficult without shovels."

"Not burry," Jack corrects them. "We need to burn them."

A silence falls over us. Sayid looks taken aback. Nonplused, Jack continues to clean Charlie's wound.

I am the first to speak. "They're _people_."

"I know they're people, Lenny," Jack says calmly.

"_Burning_ the remains? They deserve better than that," Sayid counters, disgust filling his voice.

"Better than what?" Jack asks. "Being eaten by wild animals? Because that's what's going to happen. Any bodies we burry are not gonna say buried for very long. Look, I know this seems harsh, but that fuselage in the sun… It's not about what they deserve. They're gone, and… we're not."

"What you say may be true," Sayid concedes, "but for us to decide how these people are laid to rest, it's not right. No regard for their wishes? Their religions?

"We don't have time to sort out everybody's god," Jack states.

"Really?" Charlie interjects. "Last I heard, we were positively _made_ of time."

Jack ignores him. "Look, I'm not happy about it either. But we crashed a thousand miles off course. They're looking for us in the wrong place. It's been four days, no one's come. Tomorrow morning we need everyone to start gathering wood and dried brush. We'll turn that fuselage into a furnace. Wait until the sun goes down tomorrow night before we set the fire." His words have a certain finality about them, and we don't question what he says.

By the time Jack is done with his little speech, Charlie's wound as been cleaned and bandaged, and with one last glance at us, Jack stands up and exits the tent. Charlie waits until he's out of earshot before turning back to us and asking, "If he's so eager to burn the bodies, why are we waiting until sundown?"

"He's hoping someone will see it," Kate explains, her eyes weary.

We all sit in silence for a few moments before Sayid lets out a sigh of mingled frustration and exhaustion and exits the tent. Kate exchanges a look of hopelessness with Charlie and I and follows Sayid out of the tent. When it is just Charlie and I left, he takes a deep breath and says, "Time for bed, I suppose." And although I am not tired, I nod my head in agreement.

As we make our way into the open night air, we part ways with a quiet "good-night" and I make my way back to my tent. I climb under the covers and lay there with my eyes open, just staring at the roof of my shelter, all weariness devoid of my body. After ten minutes, I sit up and rummage through my bag until I locate my cards. Six games of solitaire later, I lay down and close my eyes to a restless sleep.

**Author's Note: Thank you all so much for the amazing reviews and for sticking with this story. It will get better, I promise. I never really found season 1 as interesting as the rest of the seasons anyway. Please keep reading, reviews are appreciated, and don't forget to watch LOST tomorrow!! Bye-bye!!**


	10. We Hunt

**Disclaimer: I do not own LOST. Why can't I own LOST???**

**Author's Note: Okay, so this chapter is a little shorter than my previous ones, as will be the next chapter. But there is information in here that will become pivotal to a future story-arc, so this chapter isn't a total waste. Enjoy!!**

I wake up a few hours later as the sky is just beginning to change to a lighter shade of blue. I crawl out of my tent to see that a few other people are also awake and moving through the camp. Yawning, I spot Ethan and jog to catch up.

"Hey, what's going on?" I ask.

"Everyone is gathering wood so we can burn the fuselage tonight," he says, looking at the plane. "Jack thinks the boars will return if we don't."

"Right," I say, recalling our conversation from the pervious night. "Want some help?"

"Sure. The more the merrier, right?" he says, smiling.

We head into the shaded jungle together, keeping close to the treeline. With the boar-scare so fresh in our minds, neither one of us wants to lose sight of the beach. Getting lost out here would definitely not be the best thing in the world, especially with polar bears and giant monsters lurking around as well. I am slightly uneasy.

We spread out, gathering as much dried brush and sticks as we can find, all the while keeping within earshot of one another. Every few minutes Ethan will call out for me through the trees and bamboo to check that I am okay and haven't absentmindedly wandered off deeper into the jungle. I reply that "I'm over here!" and continue collecting sticks and branches. We work like this for the better part of an hour, the beating sun now climbing over the trees.

I am starting to exhaust, and a thin layer of sweat is soaking through my clothes, making me uncomfortable. I make a mental note to change into something much cooler when we get back to the beach. My face grows hot, and I feel blood pounding in my cheeks, so I throw my bundle of kindling into a large pile on the ground and stop to cool off.

That's when they start.

_Whispers_. I do a 360 and scan my surroundings - high and low - but see no one, yet it sounds like the voices are coming from behind every tree, every leaf, every rock. Above me, below me, encircling me. Disoriented, I close my eyes and wait for His voice.

"_Drugs."_

And with that one word, I am thrown back into a world of silence, the only sound being the wind in the trees. I open my eyes and look around me but see no one. I take a deep breath to calm myself and steady my pounding heart. What was _that_? _Drugs._ What did He mean by that? It doesn't mean anything to me; I don't do drugs, never have! And we're on an island for Pete's sake! It doesn't even make sense. I'm too tired - too exhausted - to think about it right now.

I wipe sweat from my forehead and am about to continue working, but my ears catch a sound on the wind. I hear hurried footsteps running through the jungle, straight for me! I snap my head up in alarm only to see Ethan emerge through a wall of foliage. He stops suddenly when he sees me.

"_There_ you are! I was calling for you." He pauses for a moment to read over my labored face. "Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't hear you. And I'm just a little tired, that's all." Of course I omit the part about the whispers and voice.

"Here," he says, handing me a bottle of Oceanic water. "Are you _sure_? How much sleep did you get last night?"

"Not much," I admit, slightly abashed, taking a sip of the water. It's the best water I've ever tasted in my life. I drink a few more mouthfuls, savoring the taste as it slides down my throat, then hand the bottle back to him.

"You look exhausted," he states, scrutinizing my red face. "You should go back to camp and rest."

"I'm fine, _really_. I want to help."

"You've done enough already," he says, eyeing my small mountain of wood. He smiles. "At the rate you're going, no one else will _need_ to gather wood. You can burn the fuselage by yourself." Although he smiles, I can still see concern in his eyes, and I hold back from arguing with him any further.

I half smile. "Okay. I'll go back." I like Ethan, and I know he's only doing this out of care and concern for me. I'll be a kid just this once and go back to camp.

He tells me he'll bring my pile to the fuselage for me. I thank him and trek back to the beach. Everyone is awake now, and I see a large pile of wood beginning to form at the mouth of Oceanic 815. It looks like Jack was able to convince a lot of people that burning the dead is a good idea.

I make my way back to my tent to change my clothes and find a tank top and a pair of comfortable jeans at the bottom of my bag. Perfect, I think, as I put them on. My dirty clothes are thrown back into the suitcase. I'll wash them later.

I sit in my tent for a few minutes, enjoying the relaxing feeling of the cool sand beneath my feet. It's like when you get sick in the bathroom, and the cool porcelain from the toilet somehow quells the nausea you feeling raging through your stomach. I close my eyes and feel serenity wash over me as I plow my feet through the sand.

Unfortunately, it doesn't last long. From outside my tent I can hear two people arguing in raised voices, and I am unwillingly forced out of my reverie. Slightly agitated, I pause to listen to the argument, and my stomach jolts as I realize that one of the voices belongs to Sawyer. Here we go, what now?

I scramble out of my tent to see Hurley and Sawyer physically fighting over a _backpack_. _Seriously, a backpack? What the heck?_ At the moment, Sawyer is winning, but Hurley is being persistent. I join the crowd of people watching.

"What's your problem?" Hurley shouts. "Hand 'em over!"

"How about no?" Sawyer retorts.

Hurley lunges for the bag, but Sawyer quickly dodges out of the way.

"There's other people here! Or don't you give a crap?" argues Hurley, abandoning his desire of snatching the bag and lunging to grab ahold of Sawyer instead.

"Yeah? Well, if one of us wouldn't eat more than his fair share!" Sawyer remarks, twisting free of Hurley's bulky grasp.

"Oh, that's _bull_, and you _know_ it!" Hurley shouts.

"Hey, come on, guys," Boone interjects, stepping forward from the cluster of people. "Knock it off."

"You're not happy unless you're screwing someone over," Hurley states, regaining his hold on Sawyer.

"I'm peachy, Porkpie!"

"Guys, knock it off!" Boone yells louder.

"Stay out of this, Metro," Sawyer snaps at Boone.

"Hey!" Out of nowhere Jack and Sayid rush in and push Sawyer and Hurley apart. "What's going on?" Jack demands.

"Jethro here is hoarding the last of the peanuts," Hurley explains, pointing at Sawyer.

"My own stash," Sawyer argues. "I found it in there." He points to the fuselage.

Jack pauses for a moment wanting to say something to Sawyer, then thinks better of it and turns to Hurley. "What about the rest of the food?"

"There is no 'rest of the food', dude," he explains. "We kinda… ate it all."

Panicked murmurs break out through the crowd.

"What?"

"Nothing's left?"

"What are you talking about?"

Jack attempts to quell everyone's fears. "Okay, everybody, just _calm_ down."

"We can _find_ food," Sayid jumps in. "There are plenty of things on this island we can use for sustenance."

"And exactly _how_ are we gonna _find_ this sustenance?" Sawyer interjects, plopping down into a wayward plane seat.

_Whoosh!_

Without any kind of warning, a hunting knife about the length of my forearm finds its mark in the fibers of the plane seat cushions, mere inches from Sawyer's head. Shaken, we all turn to look and discover the identity of the thrower. John Locke.

He stands there very still, his feet spread apart in an alpha-dog type manner, his plaid button-down shirt billowing in the wind.

"We hunt."

There is a pause as everyone registers what just happened. After a few moments, Kate is the first to pose a question to Locke. "How'd you get that knife on the plane?" As she says this, Jack takes it upon himself to withdraw the knife from within the cushions.

"Checked it," Locke replies simply.

Jack steps toward Locke, holding out the knife for him to reclaim. "You either have very _good_ aim," Jack remarks, glancing back at Sawyer, "or very _bad_ aim, Mr.…"

"Locke." I notice Michael's look of resentment as he introduces the bald-headed man to the doctor. "His name is Locke."

"Okay, Mr. Locke. What is it that we're hunting?" Jack humors him.

Locke, however, is quite serious on the matter as he addresses everyone, "We know there are wild boar on the island. Razorbacks, by the look of them. The ones that came into the camp last night were piglets - a hundred, 150 pounds each. Which means that there's a mothernearby. A 250-pound _rat_ with scimitar-like tusks and a surly disposition who'd love nothing more than to eviscerate anything comes near. A boar's usual mode of attack is to circle around and charge from behind, so I figure it'll take at least three of us to distract her long enough for me to flank one of the piglets, pin it and slit its throat."

We all kind of stand there listening to Locke in mingled shock and horror. Sawyer is the first to speak, addressing Jack. "And you gave him his knife _back_?"

"Well, if you've got a _better_ idea…"

"Better than three of you wandering into the magic forest to bag a hunk o' ham with nothing but a little bitty hunting knife? Hell no. It's the best idea I ever heard."

Jack just kind of shrugs off Sawyer's remark and turns his attention back to a smiling Locke. In the sand at Locke's feet is a large silver case. Locke casually flips the lid back with his foot to reveal _six_ _more_ large hunting knives of various shapes and sizes, each looking more deadly than the next. Locke looks up at Jack and gives this half-smile as though proud of himself. Jack looks like he's unsure of what to say.

"Anyone who wants to help is welcome to come," Locke announces. "We leave in an hour." And without another word, he closes the case and makes his way through the throng of people, disappearing from sight.

We shift around uncomfortably, looking from one person to another to see just who is crazy enough to volunteer for such a task. After a few moments, Kate exits the crowd and follows Locke, much to the surprise of Jack. We stand around for another minute or so, waiting for someone else to step up; finally, when we are sure no one else will volunteer, people slowly start to trickle away, resuming the tasks that occupied them before Sawyer and Hurley's scuffle broke out.

**Author's Note: Please please please give me some feedback. I would love to know what works and what doesn't work. I'm always looking to improve my writing. I would really appreciate any advice you might have. Thanks so much!**


	11. To Catch A Fish

**Disclaimer: I do not own LOST. If I did, there would not have been a two-week gap between episodes! What was that all about??**

**Author's Note: Okay, again, this is a short chapter, but it contains something that becomes important later on. See if you can figure it out. Also, it is not my favorite chapter, but the next chapter IS!! So if you can hold out for another week, it'll all pay off. Thank you so much for reading!! Enjoy!**

I glance around at the dispersing crowd, catching Hurley's eye. I approach him, and as I do so, he looks around to make sure that no one will overhear him before saying, "Dude, I'm not so sure about that Locke guy."

"You and me both," I agree, coming to stop in front of the very large man.

"And what's up with Kate going of to join him?" he asks suspiciously, if not somewhat accusingly. "You think she'll kill him, take his knives, and then come back for us?"

"Hurley, you haven't told anyone about that, have you?" I ask, suddenly alarmed. What will happen if word gets out that Kate is a fugitive? I really don't think it's that big of a deal. I mean, she could be innocent for all I know. But if people start panicking because they are afraid of her, things could start to get bad.

"No, but, I mean, don't you think we should _warn_ Locke or something? Give him a little heads-up?"

"I thought you didn't like Locke," I say, slightly amused now that I know we don't have to worry about Kate's secret getting out. Not yet anyway.

"I don't, but, like, I don't want him to die or anything," he explains.

"Hurley, the guy's got _seven knives_," I chuckle. "I think he can handle himself. Don't worry."

"Alright. I guess you're right, dude," he concedes.

"That's the spirit," I smile. "Hey, you wanna play cards or something? I've got some in my bag."

"Sweet. Yeah. There's nothing else to do on this island."

"I'll be right back," I excuse myself, jogging to my tent. And just as I crawl inside and unzip my bag…

_Whispers_.

I do my best to ignore them and locate my cards. After some rummaging around, I find them sandwiched between some clothes. I close my fingers around the deck, all the while hearing the faint voices just out of reach. I close my bag and crawl out of the tent. Finally, I hear His voice. _"Drugs."_ Then silence.

I give a weary sigh and murmur, "I heard you the first time. Unless you tell me something more, I don't know what you mean." I shake off my slight frustration and head back to Hurley.

"So, what'll it be?" I ask, plopping down across from him in the sand. "Go Fish? War? Rummy? Spit?"

"Rummy's cool."

"7-card, 10-card, or 500?"

"You choose."

"10-card it is," I say, dealing.

"You always bring cards with you?" he asks, examining his ten cards closely. "I mean, it's not exactly a _common_ thing for people to bring on planes."

"I _always_ have cards with me," I say, thoughtful. "I guess I've found that it's an easy way to get to know people. Who _doesn't_ love cards, right?"

I remember meeting so many people when I first moved to Oxford with Donovan. Every now and then I would strike up a conversation with somone - sometimes a student, sometimes a professor - and we would end up conversing over a game of cards. Those were good times. Unfortunately, most of the time I never saw those people again; Oxford is _huge_ after all. And now I barely remember any of their names. Oh well. It doesn't really make a difference now I suppose.

Hurley ends up beating me 8 out of 15 games, and right as I open my mouth ready to challenge him to a 16th game, Charlie comes striding over.

"Hey, do either of you know anything about fishing?" he asks rather bluntly.

"No, I don't. Sorry," I apologize, turning back to my cards.

"Yeah, kinda," Hurley tells him, looking up at Charlie and squinting the sun out of his eyes.

"Perfect," Charlie proclaims. "Come on, let's go."

He turns to leave, but I stop him.

"Wait. Why are you going fishing? Locke and Kate just went to go hunt boar."

"Alright, well," he begins, turning back to us. "You know that Shannon girl?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, well she thinks I'm this really good fisher, but I'm not, and I already told her I would catch her a fish, so I really need your help."

"Well, why don't you just tell her you lied, dude?" Hurley asks.

"Cos if I get her a fish, I think I've got a shot with her, you know? Come on, man." Charlie nudges Hurley in the arm.

Hurley looks at me for a second - contemplating - then turns back to Charlie and says, "Yeah, sure dude."

"Excellent."

They stand up and walk toward the ocean, but Hurley turns back to me, "You coming?"

"Yeah, I'll be right there," I say, staring at the cards strewn about in the sand. I quickly gather them together and cram them back into the box before running to my tent and throwing the deck into my bag. By the time I catch up to the pair of them down the beach, Charlie is already showing him how he plans to execute his plan.

"Dude, what am I supposed to do with that?" Hurley asks, eyeing a handmade spear that Charlie hands him.

"Catch fish with it," Charlie replies. "Look, I didn't have time to make a fishing pole, so we'll have to use this."

"Didn't have _time_, or didn't know _how to_?" I ask, smiling.

"I didn't know how to, alright? But, come on, we can use this. It can't be that hard."

"We'll see, dude," says Hurley taking the spear and walking into the water.

Charlie and I follow, stopping when the water reaches our knees. We watch as Hurley holds the spear at the ready, waiting for a fish to swim by. After two minutes, and without warning, Hurley plunges the rod into the water.

"Did you get it?" Charlie asks.

"No. Just missed it."

"Bollocks."

He holds the spear up again, ready and waiting, a determined look on his face. A few moments go by, and I see a quick flash of silver beneath the waves. Hurley strikes.

"Did you get it?" Charlie asks again. I stifle a laugh.

"No."

This continues on for ten minutes, each time Hurley comes up empty. Once more he plunges the spear in.

"Get it?" Charlie asks.

"Dude, quit asking me that," Hurley remarks, frustrated.

"Sorry," Charlie apologizes. "It's just, you said you knew how to fish."

"Yeah." Hurley readies himself for the seventh time. "Off the Santa Monica Pier with my old man and a fishing pole and bait. Never had to try to poke one with a sharp stick."

Another flash of silver and Charlie and I both point out the fish to Hurley who lunges again and misses.

"Well," Charlie consoles, "I really appreciate you helping me out. Thanks."

"Hey," Hurley begins, grabbing the spear with both hands, "anything that keeps me far away from that fuselage and that fricken redneck _jerk_!"

Another flash and Hurley strikes just a second too late. He removes the rod from the sea and smacks it repeatedly against the surface of the water. "Damn it! Crap! Crap! Son-of-a--,"

"You want me to have a go?" Charlie offers.

"Knock yourself out," Hurley remarks, handing off the spear.

"Alright," Charlie mutters, getting into position. He raises the pole, ready to strike, every sense focused on the task at hand.

"Okay, here comes one," I say, pointing it out.

"Put your weight into it," Hurley coaches. "Easy. Wait for it… Wait… Now!"

Without thinking twice, Charlie throws his whole body at the fish and ends up flailing beneath the waves, struggling to regain his footing. After a moment or two he resurfaces, dumbfounded, as though not entirely sure of what just happened.

It starts as a chuckle, but immediately grows into full-fledged hysteria as I struggle to catch my breath. The sight is just too funny to behold. Charlie's face is absolutely priceless. Hurley too is laughing, and I have to hold onto him to stabilize myself or risk falling beneath the waves as Charlie did. My stomach aches from laughing, and but it can't be helped. It's just too funny.

"Dude, you got to try to pin it," Hurley offers.

"Did you see how close I was? You said I had to corner it."

Charlie almost stumbles backwards, but Hurley catches him before he falls, and soon all three of us are laughing uncontrollably. I clutch my sides, trying to catch my breath, but the laughter keeps coming. The three of us eventually fight our way out of the water and collapse on the sand, our sides heaving.

Slowly, our fits of hysterics die off, but the smiles remain. I close my eyes, savoring the moment, the warm sun beating down on us. I let it soak into my body, covering me like a blanket, my mind slipping away from consciousness. Faintly, I hear someone say, "I'm going back in," and then an even more distant voice say, "Dude, let her sleep." Finally, a silence falls over me, and I drift off into a comfortable slumber.

**Author's Note: Like I said, not my favorite chapter. This one was very much a filler chapter; although it did have an important piece of information it in that becomes important later. Did you spot it? It's pretty obvious. Anyway, the next chapter is my favorite so far, so please bear with me! Be sure to watch LOST tomorrow. Bye-bye!!**


	12. Drugs

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own LOST. If I did, Dan would be in it WAY more than he is.**

**Author's Note: Okay, so I promised that this chapter would be longer… and I'm sorry to say that that's not the case. I thought it was longer than it actually was. Sorry ******** But it is my favorite chapter so far, so I hope that makes up for it! This is an important chapter to a future story arc, so YAY! Now, without further ado, I give you Chapter 12… Enjoy!**

I wake up to the orange setting sun trying to force its way through my eyelids. Squinting, I blink my eyes a few times and look about me. Hurley and Charlie are gone, and a bunch of the survivors are busy filling the fuselage with collected wood. I sit up and brush the sand from my hair. _Gosh, I need a bath. Not now, though - it's too dark. Maybe tomorrow. _Sighing, I get to my feet in one smooth motion, but I have to close my eyes as I get a head rush.

_Whispers._ Enclosing me, circling me, above me, below me. They, along with the head rush, leave me dizzy, and I collapse back onto the sand. Then, His voice forces its way into my consciousness. "_Drugs_." And just like that, I am thrown back into a world where the most prominent sound is the waves crashing against the shore.

I bend my head and rub my palms against my eyes. "Look," I mumble to myself, "could you be a little less cryptic? I have no idea what you are trying to tell me." I breathe out another heavy sigh as I clutch my knees to my chest and gaze off at the ocean.

"Lenny!"

Startled, I look up to see Ethan hurriedly making his way toward me, his eyes glazed over with concern.

"Are you okay?" he asks, kneeling beside me.

"I'm fine," I reply, just a bit confused. "Why?"

"Well, it looked like you were about to pass out." The tension in his shoulders eases as he realizes the false alarm.

"Nope. Just a head rush," I explain. _Well, that and mysterious whispers that only I can hear and a voice that keeps repeating things that I don't understand._ But I leave that part out of the equation.

Just then, my stomach growls loud enough for both of us to hear. I smile in embarrassment. "Guess I'm kinda hungry."

Unexpectedly, he looks at me and says, "You're not a vegetarian, are you?"

"No," I reply, taken off-guard. "Why?"

"Locke came back with some boar about an hour ago."

"Really?" I ask excited. "Thank goodness! I was getting sick of that airplane food."

Ethan chuckles slightly. "Me too. Come on, let's get something to eat."

Together we walk side-by-side up the beach, the sand in my shoes rubbing against my toes. Our pace is slow and relaxed, the orange sun beating its final rays of warmth against our skin. I am so content in this moment. Ethan - I don't understand it - but Ethan looks at me differently than anyone else here. It's almost as if he knows me, like we're old friends or something. He doesn't see the kid that everyone else sees, but rather, the mature soul inside of me. It's oddly comforting.

We find Locke roasting an entire boar above a large fire, the flames licking at the belly of the pig. He tells us it will be a few more minutes before it's ready to eat, so Ethan and I take a seat on a piece of wreckage and patiently wait. While I watch Locke expertly tend to the boar, Ethan tells me that tonight when they burn the bodies there will be a small memorial service given by Claire honoring all who died in the crash. I tell him that I would very much like to attend.

Once the boar is done roasting, Locke carves it up and rations it out to the famished survivors. I thank him when he hands me my portion, then sit down and eat ravenously. Ethan glances up from his plate and looks at me.

"You should slow down," he advises. "You'll give yourself a stomach ache if you eat that fast."

I take a second to swallow my mouthful before saying, "I really wish we had some barbeque sauce."

He smiles and says, "Maybe if you wish hard enough some will fall from the sky."

"That'd be nice," I muse.

By the time we have both finished our rations, the sun has completely sunk beneath the waves and a beautiful full moon is beginning to rise. The rest of the camp is has begun to assemble at the mouth of the fuselage. Silently, Ethan and I join the group.

Boone, Hurley and Claire stand before the crowd, a pile of items laid out on a suitcase in front of them. Everyone is silent as Boone takes and lightened torch, walks to the mouth of the fuselage, and ignites the first few bundles of wood. Within a matter of minutes, the entire plane is alight in the dancing flames.

"Thank you all for coming," Claire begins, drawing out attention away from the remains of Oceanic 815. "We thought it would be nice to have a memorial service of sorts in honor of those who did not survive the crash. So…" Hurley hands her some papers and she flips through them for a second before saying, "Judith Martha Wexler from Denton, Texas. I guess she was gonna catch a connecting flight. She wore corrective lenses, and she was an organ donor. Or at least would have been."

She puts down Judith's papers, and Hurley offers her a scrapbook from the pile. She gently opens the cover and flips through the pages. "Steve and Kristen. I - I don't know their last name, but… they were really in love and were gonna be married. At least wherever they are now, they're not alone." Hurley hands her another item and she reminisces of its owner's life.

I bow my head in respect as Claire names the many people lost in the crash. Silently, a tear rolls down my cheek, and I brush it away. I send a prayer out, asking God to protect all those perished souls and see that they make it safely home to Him.

I feel someone come up beside me and join the group of mourning survivors. Breaking out of my reverie, I look up to see a dazed-looking Charlie, his hood drawn over his head. His eyes never leave the ground and he walks with the tiniest hint of a swagger.

_Whispers,_ encompassing me. I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable, ignoring the distant and distorted voices. His voice cuts through my consciousness. _"Drugs."_

"Looks like he hadn't traveled much," I hear Claire say as the world becomes quiet once more.

I let out a muffled sigh of frustration. I don't understand what He wants from me. What is He trying to tell me? Drugs? What does that mean? I don't understand!

I feel Charlie bump into me as he swaggers slightly in my direction. "Sorry," he says, not quite meeting my eye.

And in that instant I understand. It all makes sense to me. It's Charlie! Charlie is on drugs. That's why he joined the memorial service so late, why he swaggers, why he won't look me in the eye! He's just had a fix. Charlie is doing drugs.

I turn my attention back toward the service, although I am no longer paying attention. The reality sinks in as I stand there in shock. Charlie - cute, loveable Charlie - the same guy who I was fishing with mere hours ago, the same guy who pulled me out of the rain two days ago and asked me if I was okay, is on _drugs._

I tell myself not to think about it, that there is every chance that I could be wrong. I have no proof, no hard evidence, only speculation. However, I also know that this information came from Him, and He has never lied to me before. Yet I force my mind away from the subject. This is not my burden to carry; it's Charlie's, and he will run out of drugs sooner or later on this island.

I try to focus again on Claire but as I do, she's drawing the service to a close, and one by one people exit the crowd. Ethan bids me goodnight and walks back to his tent as I walk back to mine for what will undoubtedly be another night of restless sleep.

**Author's Note: Okay, good news and bad news. The good news is that Lenny knows that Charlie is on drugs, which opens up a story arc for the futre (finally, a decent story arc!). The bad news is that Survival will be on a hiatus until further notice. I will try my hardest to get more chapters up as soon as I can, but it might not be for awhile. So so so sorry. Please don't give up on this fic. I don't intend on just cutting it off like this. I AM going to finish it! Please leave me some reviews. Honestly, reviews give me energy to write more. So if you would like to see a new chapter up soon, review review review. Tell me your theories on what you think will happen between Lenny and Ethan or who you think He is. I love hearing what you think. Until next time, bye-bye!**


End file.
